


Smoke and Mirrors

by LovinJackson



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Battle, Broken Bones, Friendship, Gen, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 21:24:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4977046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovinJackson/pseuds/LovinJackson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By order of the Cardinal, the Musketeers must do everything in their power to collect a young Spanish girl with vital information for the King and deliver her to Paris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Won't Let Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Angelustatt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelustatt/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I do not own the Musketeers. I just like to borrow them on occasion.
> 
> A/N: So I promised myself I wasn’t going to post this until I had completely finished. I am breaking that promise right now because … well I am weak and hopeless and just simply wanted to post it. Please keep in mind that I do not know or speak Spanish and everything in this story is purely from the internet so I apologise for any bad Spanish in here. So … here it is. Lisa, this one’s for you.

**Chapter 1. Won't Let Go.**

“I don’t like this.”

 d’Artagnan looked in Porthos’ direction. He couldn’t disagree with his friend’s sentiment. They’d been holed up in a small unused shack a few hours ride over the Spanish border. d’Artagnan couldn’t say he’d ever been to Spain, even despite how close Gascony was to the border. His life up until his ill-fated trip to Paris had consisted of family and farming.  “You don’t like what? Being in Spain?” He queried from his seat by the lone table in the room.

Porthos glanced over his shoulder from where he was standing by the window, his features captured in the frown he’d had since they’d arrived at the shack the day before. “Bein’ in Spain, bein’ out of uniform; take your pick. It just don’t feel right.”

d’Artagnan looked down at his currently pauldron free right shoulder. He could understand Porthos’ agitation. Though it hadn’t been all that long since earning his commission into the Musketeer Regiment, he’d been fighting so long to be a part of the brotherhood that the loss of that piece of leather felt unnatural.

“I don’t like it either,” d’Artagnan agreed, shifting so that his ankle was resting on his thigh. He picked at a loose thread in the lining of his breeches. He’d never been one content to sit and wait. He hated being inactive. He felt restless. He glanced over at Athos who had claimed the other window. “Maybe I could head out for a bit, scout the area?”

“They should have been here last night,” Porthos commented, glancing out of the window for what must have been the hundredth time.

“Given the nature of their trip, I think we need to give them some more time,” Aramis joined the conversation from where he sat in the corner of the shack. His weapons were laid out in front of him. He was methodical in the care of his weaponry no matter what circumstances they were in. “At least until tonight.”

Athos remained quiet for a moment, taking his own chance to take a peek out of the window. He glanced back at Aramis and then to both d’Artagnan and Porthos. “I agree with Aramis but ... it wouldn’t hurt to scout the area either.”

d’Artagnan was on his feet before Athos had finished his sentence. “Good.” Buckling his scabbard belt around his waist, d’Artagnan then picked up his pistol, slipping it into place on his belt.

“Be careful,” Athos ordered as he handed d’Artagnan his dark brown cloak. He missed his new blue Musketeer cloak more than he would have anticipated. “We’re on foreign soil. If any of us are caught, especially out of uniform ...”

“We’ll be in trouble,” d’Artagnan finished for him.

“We’ll be considered spies and likely hung for our crimes,” Porthos told them, his tone serious and dark.

“Wait.” Aramis stood, making quick work of arming himself before throwing on his own dark green, moth eaten cloak. “I’ll go with you.”

“Be extra careful,” Athos warned, opening the door for them both.

“Athos,” Aramis scoffed. “This is me you’re talking about.”

“Precisely,” Athos deadpanned.

Aramis made an exaggerated show at grasping for his heart. Athos’ lips twitched and d’Artagnan thought he almost saw a grin on his mentor’s face. His own smile couldn’t be held back as he shook his head, giving Aramis a slight shove towards the door.

The sun was out, its warm rays warding away the chill. The fresh air was something that invigorated him and much preferable to being stuck cooped up in a small run down shack with three other men, no matter how much he cared for those men. In fact it was possibly the one thing he missed since he’d moved to Paris – the fresh country air. There was nothing like it.

“What are you smiling about?” Aramis asked from where he was saddling his horse.

d’Artagnan took a deep breath and turned to smile at his friend. “Smell that. It’s beautiful.”

Aramis glanced around them, his eyes taking in the trees, the rays of light shining through the leaves. He nodded with a smile. “Particularly in this area. It always has been this time of year.”

“You know this area?”

“I’ve travelled through this part of the country many times in my life. My mother came from a village not far from here.”

“Your mother was Spanish?”

“She was. God rest her soul.” The marksman reached for the ornate cross that rested on his chest and pressed his lips to it. He looked skyward as he released the crucifix and then went back to his task.

d’Artagnan paused. He rested a hand on the blanket he’d laid over his horse as he watched Aramis tend to his own, tightening the straps of the saddle. Aramis was probably the most light-hearted of their small circle but in reality, there was a whole lot about Aramis that the man didn’t share. He’d never heard Aramis talk about his family, although it did explain his knowledge of the Spanish language. It heightened his curiosity. “Can I ask you a question?” he asked.

Aramis continued readying his horse, slipping the bridal over its ears with practiced ease. “Any time.”

“Is it difficult?”

Aramis finally stopped what he was doing long enough to meet d’Artagnan’s curious gaze. “Is what difficult?”

“Having your loyalties split like that ... between Spain and France, I mean.”

Aramis seemed to consider the question for a moment before answering. “Don’t let my Spanish heritage fool you, my friend. My loyalties have and always will be to France. I _am_ French.”

“Of course,” d’Artagnan agreed. He ran a hand through his hair, hating that his query had come out sounding like he was questioning his friend’s loyalty. “I didn’t mean to imply...”

“Relax, d’Artagnan,” Aramis chuckled. “I know what you were asking.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve just never heard you speak of your parents.”

Aramis sighed, the motion almost wistful. “She was ... a beautiful woman.” He paused and then for a second d’Artagnan thought he’d been caught, lost in a memory.  The quiet moment ended as soon as it had begun. Aramis brought his eyes up to meet d’Artagnan’s, a mischievous glint hiding in the brown orbs. “In fact there are a many beautiful things that are of Spanish descent. The Queen herself is Spanish...”

d’Artagnan laughed softly, turning back to his unsaddled horse. “You are incorrigible.”

Within minutes the horses were ready and d’Artagnan was just about to mount when he paused. A sound filled the small area. Aramis had clearly heard it too as he stilled, his hand going for his pistol. He looked at d’Artagnan. “Someone is coming.” He stated, softly.

Aramis whistled, alerting their friends inside that something was happening. He moved away from his horse and headed for the nearest tree to his right. d’Artagnan automatically headed to his left, silently slipping in between a bush and a tree. They would wait out the arrival in hiding, allowing some element of surprise in case their visitors meant any danger.

Waiting was the hardest part. He knelt, moist dirt dampening through his breeches. He placed one hand against the tree, realising belatedly that he hadn’t yet put his gloves on. His hands were freezing.  He risked rising a little over the leaves hiding his position. Two horses were headed down the small narrow path that lead to the shack they had been calling home for a night. Upon the horses rode a man dressed in black pants and a green shirt, his long dark hair was tied back. On the second horse rode a much smaller person, a large hat obscured the person’s face and a large cloak rested on the person’s shoulders.

d’Artagnan adjusted his balance on the ground, catching Aramis’ gaze from across the path. The Spaniard shook his head, silently telling d’Artagnan stay put. As the riders past their positions, d’Artagnan moved around the tree slightly to keep them in view. From his hiding spot he could now see Athos and Porthos. The pair had exited the shack, weapons all in place and at the ready should this be some kind of attack ... or trap.

“Hola?”

Porthos and Athos shared a look.

“Are you Mr De La Fuente?” Athos asked, hand resting on his rapier.

“Sí Sí. Yo soy el señor De La Fuente,” The man said. He reached out and gripped the smaller rider’s shoulder. d’Artagnan’s knowledge of the Spanish language was limited. In fact he was at a total loss. But he was fairly certain the man had just agreed that he was the man they were waiting on.

“Sus nombres , señor? ¿Eres de los mosqueteros del rey ?” The man spoke fast, keeping his grip on his companion. Once again d’Artagnan was left having no idea what was being said. At a guess the man seemed to be saying something about musketeers but he was starting to wonder whether Aramis should make himself known. He was the only one that spoke Spanish fluently.

By the confused looks on both Athos and Porthos’ faces, d’Artagnan could see that he wasn’t the only one who was unable to completely decipher what the man was saying. Aramis whistled once more. This time it was a warning for _him_ and d’Artagnan was ready. With fluid motion and weapons drawn, d’Artagnan and Aramis exited their hiding places.

“Hemos sido enviados para escoltar a un espía español al Rey.” Aramis spoke quickly, the language flowing easily from his tongue. The arm holding his pistol didn’t waver as he moved further up.

“¿Cómo sé que usted no es bandidos ?”

d’Artagnan looked to Aramis to translate. His friend kept his eyes directed at their visitors as he spoke. “He wants to know how he can trust us.”

Athos reached inside his doublet and produced a letter. It was proof of their validity, sealed with a mark that none of them recognised. The Cardinal assured them that his contact would. Athos stepped forward and handed the letter over to the Spaniard. De La Fuente broke the seal and looked over the letter. Whatever the man had found inside seemed to calm him as his whole body relaxed and he released his grip on his charge. “Y mi pago?” he spoke directly to Aramis now as he tore up the letter.

Aramis for his part rolled his eyes but lowered his weapon slightly. “He wants payment for his delivery.”

“ _Late_ delivery,” Porthos added, but also lowered his weapon.

Athos reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bag full of coins that the Cardinal had provided for them. “With compliments from the Cardinal,” he stated as he tossed the bag to the man. Aramis translated Athos words and De La Fuente smiled, slipping the bag into his own pocket.

De La Fuente dismounted from his horse with a grunt as his feet hit the hard ground. Following Aramis’ lead, d’Artagnan lowered his weapon completely and re-clipped it to his belt. He kept his attention to their surroundings on high alert. The last thing they needed was to fall into an ambush at the very start of their mission while they were still on foreign ground.

De La Fuente moved around to the second horse and reached up for its small rider. He gently lowered his charge to the ground and brought the small person around to stand in front of them. Delicate hands reached up and removed the massively floppy hat. Underneath the wide brims was a young girl. She looked to be all of twelve years old as far as d’Artagnan could see. Her long dark hair was tied back in a low braid and her large brown eyes looked up at them all, each in turn, seemingly taking in the strangers before her.

“Es para mí un placer presentar mi hija , Juliana.”

d’Artagnan glanced from the young girl in front of him and his brothers who all had equally stunned looks on their faces. When they had been told to pick up a spy from over the Spanish border they had not expected a child.

“Uh ...” Aramis began, looking at Athos. “This is Juliana. De La Fuente’s daughter.”

xxxxAll4Onexxxx

As all five horses crested the highest point of the road, Athos resisted the urge to nudge his horse into action.

The sun was falling low, illuminating the sky and surrounding the area with a beautiful serene atmosphere.  From their high vantage point it was quite a scene to behold.  But Athos was on edge. They were not on a leisurely ride through France – although thankfully they were back on French soil - they were on a mission from the king. Athos was very anxious. He was anxious to get back to Paris and hand over their burden.

Athos looked ahead to the young girl in question. Juliana De La Fuente was a thirteen year old – not twelve as she had so quickly corrected d’Artagnan -  Spanish girl who’d been in the unfortunate position to overhear some information that was very important to King Louis. This was information that they were not privy to as they had been so reminded upon collecting the girl from her father. Athos shook his head as he thought back to the exchange. It had saddened him that the man was so eager to hand over his daughter for a pay check. In fact it disgusted him. Athos had pretended not to see the tears in her eyes as she watched her father ride away. What did he know about how to deal with teenage girls tears? Still, he had to commend her because she hadn’t let them fall.

Juliana for her part was quite animated once she got a little more comfortable with her four musketeer guards. Thankfully she spoke enough French to not make their journey as frustrating as their meeting with her father had been. It was definitely an advantage having one of their team fluent in Spanish but frustrating when all conversation had to go through that one person. He trusted Aramis with his life but Athos had never been comfortable not knowing exactly what was going on.

Juliana turned to look over her shoulder at him as she sat upon her horse, wedged in between Aramis and Porthos. She smiled at him, like she had been periodically through the ride in this formation.  It hadn’t taken long, once on the road, for Juliana’s fear and uncertainty to be replaced by curiosity. Her broken French had flown from her mouth with question after question.  All of her enquiries had been sent in his direction but it wasn’t until Juliana had commented on his ‘manly beard’ that Athos had decided that a change in formation was warranted.  Porthos was now in his place by her side with Aramis and d’Artagnan had been given lead while Athos covered their rears.

The beauty of this arrangement was that he was now avoiding the constant smirk from Aramis.  His friend was finding it all too amusing that their young charge had seemed to take a particular liking to him. Now he was faced with Juliana making obvious attempts to give her attention to him.  Athos nodded back, doing as much to acknowledge the child without encouraging her ridiculous infatuation with him.

Looking past Juliana, Athos could make out d’Artagnan taking up the lead in their small group. The boy had proven to be a good scout and Athos had no problem letting him take lead, knowing he had a keen eye. He was always watching, always ready for business. He was proving to be a good Musketeer. Athos found himself inwardly smiling. d’Artagnan wore his pauldron proudly. He’d come a long way from the reckless boy who’d stormed into the Musketeer garrison intent on killing him.

Glancing behind him, Athos shifted in his saddle. There was nothing but un-kept road, trees and a rising cliff-face from the way they’d come. There was no sign of anyone following them but for some reason Athos couldn’t keep his unease at bay. Rushing water could be heard from somewhere below, indicating the stream they had been following had continued as they’d climbed higher on the road.

Giving in to his paranoia, Athos nudged his horse with his heels, jolting the animal into moving forward and falling into line with Aramis.

“Once we get down from this ledge we should find somewhere to stop.”

Aramis glanced at him, a smile sliding easily into place. “Athos, my friend, Juliana was just regaling us with camping tales from her childhood.”

“I’m sorry I missed it,” Athos stated dryly, twisting to look over his shoulder. The hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention. Something felt off.

“I have other stories, Senor Athos,” Juliana piped up, leaning forward in her saddle to peer around Aramis at him. “I would be ... pleased to tell you more.”

Aramis leaned over towards the young girl. “Senor Athos ama una buena historia fogata.” He winked, causing the girl to giggle.

Athos frowned at his friend. The Spaniard had taken great delight in giving secret messages to the girl leaving Athos completely unawares as to what was being said. It made him uncomfortable. Porthos met his gaze with a shrug. The big man wasn’t any more aware than he was.

Aramis straightened himself in the saddle and grinned at Athos. “I just said that you love a good campfire story.” He was quite proud of himself.

“Our Athos isa _great_ talker,” Porthos stated from the other side of Juliana.

Athos fought the urge to roll his eyes. “If you two are done spreading vicious rumours about me, can we pick up the pace? I’d like to set up camp before nightfall.”

Aramis sighed dramatically. “A great talker and completely no fun ... at all.”

“Someone has to be the adult,” Athos concluded.

The three men tensed as a bird flew out from the trees overhead. d’Artagnan paused, his body language screamed alertness. Aramis and Porthos both straightened in their saddles, all jokes forgotten.

“What is wrong?” Juliana asked, clearly picking up on the unease of her escorts.

“Possibly nothing,” Athos stated, still not entirely convinced. “We should ...” his next words were cut off as Musket fire blasted its way through the trees beside them.

Athos watched in horror as Juliana’s horse took a musket ball to the head, dropping the beast quickly, taking its small rider with it. “Aramis! Get her out of here!” Athos shouted as Aramis was already dropping to the ground and racing to the frightened girl.

Another musket ball flew past him, barely missing his head as bandits rushed from the trees. His horse bucked backwoods, not at all happy with the chaotic noise that had erupted around him. Another blast sounded and this time one of their enemy dropped, his arm still outstretched, pistol dropping from his fingers as a dark red stain blossomed on his chest.

Looking back at Aramis, Athos noted that the marksman had indeed hit his mark in true Aramis fashion – one hand holding a smoking pistol while the other was attempting to pull Juliana free from her dead horse. He shouted for d’Artagnan as he pulled her free.

Trusting Aramis and d’Artagnan to handle Juliana’s protection, Athos kicked his horse into action. He charged one of the attackers, jumping onto the man from the side as his horse made a quick getaway. The pair crashed to the ground hard and Athos knew he was going to be nursing a massive bruise on his hip once they were finished.

Athos tumbled to a stop with his attacker landing on top of him. Porthos’ war cry and a litany of shouts in French were the background noise to battle as his heart raced in his chest. French. They were being attacked by their own people. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he saw a fist hurtling in the direction of his face.  Athos’ reflexes caused him to lift his arm and block the attack, following up with his own left-handed jab to the man’s jaw. Using his legs as leverage he flipped and rolled with his opponent, taking back the advantage.

“Athos!”

The scream from Aramis was enough to make him duck low, a blade being slashed through the air sounded from where his head had just been. Athos was in action immediately, his right fist finding purchase against a cheekbone of the man underneath him, knocking him out cold, before he launched himself to his feet. He knocked his second attacker away, giving himself time to pull his rapier free.  His blade clashed against the steel of another. Athos pushed forward, forcing his new opponent back as he witnessed d’Artagnan leaving a trail of dust behind, taking Juliana out of the equation.

In three confident strokes, Athos was running his sword through his opponent.  He pulled his sword back but not quick enough as air was robbed from him with a well placed blow to the ribs. Another bandit – enraged by the death of his friend – hit him from the side. Athos faulted, falling to his knee as he raised his sword. The weight behind the next attack forced him to the ground. He rolled, as the man he’d punched in the jaw had recovered and joined the fight. He forced himself up onto one knee again, trying to ignore how close the ledge was at his back. He attempted a parry while narrowly avoiding an attack to his side.

The attacker in front of him suddenly gasped, arching forward as a blade plunged out of his chest. His face was a mask of surprise and pain as the sword was yanked back, disappearing as his body slumped to the ground. Aramis stood there in his place, blood dripping from his blade.

Athos had no time to contemplate, Aramis’ presence.  The other bandit swung his blade causing Athos to stumble back further, unable to avoid the man’s boot as it connected with his jaw. The world tilted as the earth crumbled beneath him and then disappeared. On instinct he released his grip on his rapier and scrambled for purchase as he fell backwards. Someone screamed and followed him over. Athos’ hands grabbed at grass and roots, anything within reach as frantic hands of his attacker clung to his breeches. Athos felt panic seize his heart as the combined weight jolted him and any tangible hold he had faltered and came away in his hands. This was it. He was weightless and he mentally tried to gage how long it would take to reach the river at the bottom.

He was jolted again, his wrist almost snapping as his descent was abruptly stopped. As he dangled by one arm Athos heard his ragged breathing loud in his ears. Confused as to why he wasn’t plummeting to his possible death, Athos looked up to find Aramis staring back at him, the man’s hat falling from his head hit him in the face before it made its journey to the river below. His friend’s gloved hands were wrapped tightly around his wrist, his upper body lying dangerously halfway over the edge.

“Athos!” Aramis called, his voice tight and strained with the effort of holding the weight of two people. The man attached to his legs kicked wildly in a panic, causing Aramis to slide forward slightly. He gasped and Athos couldn’t miss the panic mirrored in his friend’s eyes.

“Aramis!” He called up, terrified that his friend would be dragged over with them.

“Get rid of him!” Aramis grunted, sweat collecting on his forehead. “I … I can’t hold you both.”

Athos silently did as he was told, trying to dislodge his passenger, his heart was beating so hard he thought it might beat right out of his chest. He grunted. His attempts at removing the man from his legs only served to swing their bodies more. Earth crumbled under his friend’s chest. Aramis increased the pressure of one hand around his wrist while simultaneously letting go with the other to reach blindly for something to hold onto.

“Porthos!” Aramis screamed. There was a real terror in the sharp-shooter’s voice that Athos wasn’t accustomed to hearing. Athos felt them slip another inch forward, the man clinging to him from below yelped and held on tighter.

“Aramis! Aramis, let me go!” Athos ordered.

“What? Are you mad?” Aramis asked incredulously.

Athos glanced down quickly, noticing for the first time that there was a ledge below him. There was no guarantee that he’d land on it and it was still a decent fall but chancing it was better than being the cause of his friend’s death. He looked back up at Aramis, beseeching him to listen to him. “Listen to me! I won’t have you falling because of me! Let go!” Athos growled. He could feel his glove shifting, Aramis’ grip on his wrist slipping. “Let go, Aramis!”

“NO!” Aramis shouted angrily, a droplet of sweat fell from his forehead. The marksmen growled as he attempted to pull Athos up. All his effort gained them was another precarious inch forward.

“Aramis!” Athos cried out feeling himself drop another inch as Aramis struggled to keep them all from falling.

“Do not ask me to do something that I cannot do, Athos!” He growled through gritted teeth. “Porthos!” he called once more over his shoulder, desperation screaming from every pour.

More dry crumbly dirt gave away from the ledge under Aramis’ chest. Athos met Aramis’ gaze, both musketeers realising in the same moment that they were out of time. Athos attempted to wriggle his wrist out of his friend’s iron glad grip. His last act would not condemn his friend, but give him the best chance of survival.

The last thing Athos heard was the marksman’s panicked cry as all three men slid forward and over the ledge. Athos felt himself falling and then suddenly his feet hit the ledge below. Pain lanced up his shins at the impact. He fell; the momentum of his fall sent him careening off the second ledge, time speeding up. He just hoped that Aramis hadn’t followed him to his death.

**TBC …**


	2. Musketeers Stick Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So I am going to be away all weekend and probably won’t get to post until sometime next week if I don’t do it now. SOOOO … I leave you with this…
> 
> As usual. No Beta. Mistakes are entirely my fault.

 

Porthos slashed from left to right, his blade slicing through leather and flesh. The man in front of him gasped and grabbed at his bleeding chest and then slumped to the ground. Behind the now dead bandit, the remaining attackers scrambled away towards where they had come, disappearing into the tree-line. Porthos didn’t have time to care.

d’Artagnan and Juliana were gone, the lad being quick to get her out of the fight while they handled the situation. But it wasn’t d’Artagnan’s absence that that disturbed him so much. Porthos looked around the immediate area to find that he was alone on the road, bodies scattered where they had fallen in battle. He quickly turned to look in the direction he’d last seen Aramis and Athos to be in. Aramis had been screaming his name but now both men were nowhere to be seen.

Porthos stalked quickly over to where Juliana’s horse had gone down. He crouched, taking note of the bloody mess on the side of the animal’s head. He felt sadness as he looked at the eerily still animal. It was a pity.

A horse whinnied close by. Upon glancing up, Porthos found Aramis’ horse hanging out by the edge of the road, looking a little skittish. Throwing his head and kicking at the ground in front of him, Aramis’ horse had always been a little jittery. His friend had bestowed the name Fidgit upon the horse for which Porthos thought was an understatement.  He was always moving; always snorting and throwing his head around in a language that Aramis seemed to understand. Aramis had a way with the animal. There was a mutual love and appreciation between the two. Porthos on the other hand wasn’t as keen. He had nothing against the animal but he’d never felt comfortable in controlling the beast. In fact, the first time he’d had to ride him, Porthos had felt like the horse had wanted to buck him off.

Porthos stood, stretching to his full height as he scanned the area for his friend and had a sudden sick feeling overcome him. Something awful had happened. Behind him he could hear a rider approaching. He turned briefly to look over his shoulder and found d’Artagnan cantering towards them. Having found Athos’ horse, d’Artagnan held the reins in his hands. Juliana was at his back, her small arms wrapped tightly around his middle.

With half of their team now accounted for, Porthos quickly turned back to Fidgit who seemed to be eyeing him warily. He made slow and careful movements towards the animal, holding out one hand to reach for his reins. “Hey boy...” he coaxed quietly as the horse whinnied loudly again, raising its head up and down. Dropping his sword to the dirt, Porthos raised his other hand and gently placed it on the horse’s long nose. “Hey ... Shhh... Where’s Aramis, huh?” He asked, knowing the horse wasn’t going to be able to give him the answer he wanted.

Keeping a hold of the reins, Porthos moved towards the edge of the road. They had been ambushed at the highest point. He had serious doubt that he would be able to see any bodies that might have landed below but he had to look. If Aramis and Athos had gone over the edge it was unlikely they would have survived the fall, not from this height. The only other explanation for their absence would be if they had been captured by the enemy. But the body count on the road and remaining men that had taken off in the trees made that seem implausible.

His eyes widened as a familiar body did come into view. Porthos gasped at the sight of his friend lying precariously on a small ledge made of earth and roots.  He released the horse’s reins and dropped to his knees. He leant over further to try to get a better look. Aramis was lying on his front; one arm looked to be wedged underneath him while the other dangled over the edge. One leg was close to slipping over as well and Porthos knew it would not take much for his friend to complete the rest of his fall to the river below.

He opened his mouth to call Aramis’ name on instinct but reined himself in. He couldn’t see his friend’s face but the dead weight of his still body on the outcropping lead him to believe the man was unconscious. The last thing he needed was Aramis to startle awake and accidently send himself hurtling to his death. Porthos clenched his teeth in frustration.

“Porthos!” d’Artagnan called, coming to a stop behind him.

“Are you alright?” Juliana asked, jumping down from the back of d’Artagnan’s horse to join them. “Where is Senor Athos?”

“We ‘ave a problem,” Porthos told them, his gaze not being able to leave Aramis’ body should he look away and his friend fall.

d’Artagnan placed a hand on Porthos’ shoulder and looked over the ledge. “Aramis!” he gasped.

Porthos pulled himself away from the ledge, dragging d’Artagnan with him by the front of his doublet. “We need to get ‘im up.”

d’Artagnan was already nodding, looking from the edge of the road and then back up to Porthos.

“Where is Senor Athos?” Juliana asked again, dragging her gaze from Aramis position to look at the two remaining musketeers.

“I don’t know,” Porthos stated, glancing at d’Artagnan and finding the same unsettled expression on his young friend’s face. He started moving back towards Aramis’ horse. He pulled out the rope that was packed into his friend’s saddle. “I’m goin’ down there.”

“No you’re not. I am,” d’Artagnan told him, holding his hand out for the rope. “I’m lighter,” he elaborated with a shrug.

The lad had a point. As much as he wanted to get down there and pull his friend to safety, sending d’Artagnan down there made much more sense. Porthos nodded and tossed his friend the rope. “Tie that around yourself and we’ll lower you down. I’ll send down a second rope once you get to ‘im.” He then turned to the child they were supposed to be protecting. She was trembling, her eyes wide, showing her escalating panic clear as day. He needed to give her something to do. “Juliana, we’re going to need your ‘elp.”

“What ... what about Senor Athos?” Juliana asked for the third time, wrapping her arms around herself as she glanced once more over the side of the mountain to where Aramis lay deathly still.

“Hey...” Porthos crossed the distance between them and then knelt before the young girl, dragging her away from the edge slightly. “Athos is strong. ‘e’ll be alright, yeah? We’ll find ‘im. I promise. But right now? _Aramis_ needs our help,” He gripped her arms. He didn’t know if he could keep his promise but he made it all the same. He needed to believe that Athos would be found as much as Juliana did … _more_ than Juliana did.

“Did he...” Juliana paused as if trying to find the right word. “Did he fall too? I did not see him down there.”

“I don’t know,” Porthos tried to say as calmly as possible. The thought of Athos’ lifeless body lying on the bank of some river caused nausea to rise up in his throat. He didn’t want to believe it and right now? He couldn’t think about it. His best friend was depending on him. “I promise you we’ll find ‘im.”

“I’m ready,” d’Artagnan declared, walking over to the edge of the road. He pulled on the rope, testing the knot’s strength.

Porthos stood and pulled Juliana with him to the Athos’ horse. The animal was much calmer than Aramis’ and was good with instruction. He caught the other end of the rope that d’Artagnan threw to him and tied it to the saddle before walking the horse and Juliana backwards until the rope pulled taut.  “I want you to walk the horse forward slowly until I tell you to stop, okay?” He put the horse’s reins in the girl’s hands. “You got it?”

Juliana nodded. “I _got_ it.”

“Good girl.” Porthos pulled another rope from Athos’ gear and tied one end of it to the saddle. He squeezed Juliana’s shoulder as he past, heading back towards d’Artagnan. The boy was bouncing on the balls of his feet, itching to move.

Porthos quickly prepared a loop at the end of the spare rope and then dropped it to the ground. He flexed his glove-covered fingers and then gripped the rope and called over his shoulder for Juliana to start moving slowly. d’Artagnan moved backwards and Porthos had to give the lad credit for keeping his nerves in check as he edged his way over the crumbling side of the road. Dirt rained down the side of the cliff, some of it landing on the prone figure of their friend on the second landing.

A low groan could be heard from below and Porthos felt panic race through him at the thought of Aramis waking up disorientated before they could get to him. From his vantage point trying to help control d’Artagnan’s descent, Porthos couldn’t see either of his friends and that was the most disconcerting thing of all.

“Aramis?” d’Artagnan called out. “Aramis, don’t move. I’m almost there. Just don’t move.”

Porthos released more and more of the rope, feeling the weight of not only Aramis but d’Artagnan’s life in his hands. He gritted his teeth against d’Artagnan’s weight on the rope and was glad for the backup that Athos’ horse provided. He ignored how the ground shifted beneath his boots and crumbled below him.

“Stop!” d’Artagnan called from below for which Porthos immediately shouted the same order to Juliana. For a second no-one was moving.

He glanced over his shoulder at the young girl and gave her a quick nod for a job well done. “Keep ‘im steady now,” he ordered.

Porthos released his hold of the rope and got down on his knees to peer over the side. d’Artagnan was perched with his feet on the ledge in between Aramis’ legs, one hand still gripping the rope tightly and the other pressed against the wall. It was a difficult balance with not much room to play with. “Here, take the rope!” As soon as d’Artagnan responded, looking up, he threw down the second rope. d’Artagnan left it hanging as he reached for Aramis.

The marksmen moved. He gasped, causing d’Artagnan to hold on tighter. Porthos watched the youngest member of their team somehow managed to coax Aramis from the edge. He rolled Aramis back and Porthos got his first look at his friend’s face. It was covered in blood from what looked like a nasty blow to the head and he was hugging his arm to his body. The injured man allowed d’Artagnan to push him against the wall of the cliff and manoeuvrer him through the loop at the end of the rope, hissing only when his arm was jostled.

d’Artagnan shared a few more quiet words, those of which Porthos could not hear, and then looked up at him. “He’s ready!” He shouted.

“Alright!” He scrambled to his feet and turned to Juliana as his fingers wrapped around both ropes. “Juliana, move ‘im back. Slowly,” he ordered.

The girl didn’t waste any time. Porthos tried to ignore the cry of pain that came from below. It didn’t matter. It wouldn’t matter until they were both on solid ground. Then he could worry about pain and injuries and ... Athos.

Porthos moved back, using his own strength to help lift his friends to safety. Once he could see d’Artagnan’s head breach the edge of the road, Porthos gently let the ropes go, allowing Athos’ horse to control their ascent completely. He moved forward calling over his shoulder for Juliana to keep going slowly. As he reached the crumbly edge of the road, Porthos got down on his knees once more and helped d’Artagnan lift their injured sharp-shooter onto solid ground.

Aramis’ eyes were squeezed shut as he attempted to curl in on himself. Porthos dragged him further away from the edge and held him for a long moment while d’Artagnan pulled himself over and collapsed on his back, taking his own moment to just breathe.

Juliana was at his side in an instant, hovering silently.

Aramis groaned, his face stuck in a frown as he allowed his head to rest back against Porthos’ shoulder. He opened his eyes and then shut them again almost immediately. “God …” He gasped.

d’Artagnan disentangled himself from the rope and joined them, looking anxiously at their injured friend. “Is he okay?”

Aramis squinted at him, lines of pain stood out even with the blood and dirt that caked his face. “I’m … fine,” he responded through clenched teeth. Aramis attempted to pull away from Porthos, growling in either pain or frustration as Porthos pulled him back against him. “Arghh … I’m …”

“Tell us something we’ll believe.” Porthos kept an arm locked over Aramis’ chest to keep him from moving. He reached up and ripped off his bandana and tossed it to d’Artagnan. “Wipe ‘is face.”

As the mess obscuring Aramis’ features was gently cleaned away, Porthos took a look at the nasty cut on Aramis’ forehead. It was red and jagged and already forming what looked to be a spectacular bruise. The forearm he held tightly to his body looked possibly broken. “Do you remember what happened?” he asked, directing his question to the injured man.

Aramis nodded, squeezing his eyes shut again, swallowing thickly. “We …ahh …” Aramis panted, wincing as d’Artagnan ran the bandana over the cut. “We need to move. Athos …”

At the mention of Athos Juliana broke her silence, moving forward. “Señor Athos ? ¿Está de acuerdo? Dónde está? ¿Está herido? Oh, Dios mío , esto es todo culpa mía. Todo es mi culpa.” Juliana wrapped her arms around herself impossibly tighter as she cried a jumble of Spanish that made absolutely no sense to Porthos.

“No …No …” Aramis stated breathlessly. “No es tu culpa.” he responded. He tried to sit up again “Porthos. Please. Athos … he …arghh…” He cried out, his body tensing as his outburst turned into a pained whine. He looked up from where his head was pressed back against Porthos. “Please. I couldn’t hold on ...I …”

“Hey,” Porthos said quietly. “What happened?”

“Where’s Athos?” d’Artaganan asked, his tone tentative like he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.

“He ... he f-fell …” Aramis stuttered. “He fell …I had him and then … I dropped him. I dropped him, Porthos.”

Porthos felt his stomach do flip-flops. Images formed in his mind of their leader, their friend, their brother lying in a broken heap at the base of the cliff. d’Artagnan was shaking his head as if he had witnessed the very same image and denied it. Juliana crumbled, crying into her hands and muttering in Spanish.

Porthos took a long shaky breath. They were out in the open and some of their attackers had scurried away. If this girl was as important as they had been lead to believe then Porthos knew they would be back to try again. They needed to get to a safer position.

“Maybe,” d’Artagnan started, causing Porthos to jump slightly. “Maybe he made it. Maybe…”

Aramis tried to sit up again, this time a little more slowly so Porthos gave him a bit of leeway, releasing his hold. “We need to get down… ahh … down there. We need to find him.”

“Aramis …” Porthos began, hovering closely in case his friend collapsed back.

“No, don’t,” Aramis warned, wincing as he hunched over his injured arm. “We need to find him, Porthos! You don’t understand. I had him and then…,” Aramis’ voice broke, his emotions sky-rocketing to the surface. “I’ll go alone if I must.”

“I can come with you?” Juliana asked, moving closer, sitting within arms reach of the hurting Musketeer.

“No …” Porthos began, his words eliciting a reaction from his friend, cutting him off.

“Porthos … please. I need to find him. I _need_ to …”

“I’m not about to abandon Athos, Aramis. But you are in no fit state.”

“I’ll manage,” He growled. “This … this is _my_ fault. I should have been able to hold on.”

“Hey, I understand.” Porthos moved so that he was kneeling in front of his friend and placed a hand on either shoulder, grounding the man to him. Aramis squinted up at him, still gripping his injured arm to his body. “Aramis, I understand that this wasn’t not your fault and Athos wouldn’t blame you for it.”

“I need to find him.”

“Porthos? A moment?” d’Artagnan asked. He reached out a hand and Porthos took it, allowing the boy to help him to his feet. The pair moved a short distance away as Juliana crept closer to Aramis, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Aramis is right. We need to find Athos. He’ll be in bad shape.” d’Artagnan stated without any real need to. Porthos knew the stakes. His mind had conjured many a detailed image to fit this scenario.

“If he survived.” Porthos hated himself as soon as the words were out of his mouth. If anyone else had questioned Athos’ ability to survive anything he would have throttled them. But this was d’Artagnan and he knew they were all thinking it.

d’Artagnan blanched, looking at Porthos as if he had suddenly grown two heads. “This is _Athos_!” he hissed. “We can’t not look, Porthos.”

Porthos sighed. “I would never suggest that but we can’t ignore the fact that those men will be back for ‘er. We need to get Juliana to Paris as soon as possible.”

“So what _are_ you suggesting then?”

“We split up. One of us stays here and looks for Athos, the other gets Aramis and Juliana to safety.” He hated suggesting they separate. It left a bad taste in his mouth but the fact of the matter was they couldn’t ignore the mission at hand as much as they could never leave Athos for dead.

“No!”

d’Artagnan and Porthos turned towards the angry voice of their young charge. Porthos was surprised to see she had managed to creep up on them without so much as making a sound. She was sneaky, he’d give her that.

“Juliana,” Porthos began, looking over her shoulder to where Aramis still sat on the ground with his arm clutched to his chest. He looked pale and shaky and about ready to be sick. Porthos wanted nothing more than to get his friend to some proper medical care. But Porthos could also see that typical Aramis stubbornness shining in his friend’s eyes. Bringing his gaze back to the fiery Spanish girl in front of him he could see a similar stubbornness building.

“No. I am not leaving without Senor Athos. And we are … what do you call it? Time wasting.”

“Juliana, you’ll be safer,” d’Artagnan tried.

“No. Musketeers stick together. _You_ told this to me. We stick together or I’ll not go to Paris at all,” Juliana stated, standing her ground.

Aramis lifted his chin and Porthos thought it was in silent agreement. He glanced at d’Artagnan. They could force the issue. Aramis was in no condition to fight any decision they made and Juliana was small. But it would only make their job so much harder. d’Artagnan sighed and shrugged. “Fine. You’re right. We’re wasting time.”

“Can we go now?” Aramis called, trying to struggle to his knees.

“Hold up,” Porthos told him, closing the distance between them. “Before we go anywhere? We need to set that arm.”

“I was afraid you might say that.” Aramis huffed and then met Porthos’ gaze. “Get it done.”

XXXXX

The first thing that Athos became aware of was the incredible pounding headache, reminding him of every hit his head received during his fall. Athos moaned in discomfort as unconsciousness fled. He wanted to catch the darkness in his mind and dive back in, oblivious to the aches and pains that were awakening with him.

His forehead stung with every slap of water. _Water_. That was the second thing that Athos noticed. It surrounded him, it lapped at him and rolled over him like he were an irritant obstacle in its way. Its cold fingers clung to his body, numbing his heavy limbs. It wasn’t uncomfortable though. In fact the sound of the water rushing by him was peaceful. Maybe he could just lay there for a moment longer? Surely another moment to allow him to gather his scattered wits?

“Ahh!” A sharp pain hit him behind his eyes as if answering his silent question. He couldn’t just lay there. He licked his lips, tasting water and blood. His jaw ached, the skin felt tight and scraped.

Blinking his eyes slowly open, Athos closed them almost immediately as his vision blurred in and out in a dizzying fashion. It was like waking up too soon after a drunken bender and still feeling weighted and fuzzy. He thought again that he might just stay asleep for a little longer, allowing his system to return to his hellish normal.

He pressed his numb-cold cheek into his earthen pillow, frowning at the grainy texture against his abused skin. He groaned as he opened heavy eyelids once more. Lying there for a long moment, Athos waited lazily for his vision to improve in the dim light. He blinked slowly, taking in the low hanging tree branches. They were full of life, green leaves tickling the water that rippled on the dark sandy bank. He frowned, trying to put two and two together. He wasn’t … dead.

Athos pulled a hand up to the wet ground near his face. His fingers dug into the soft river bank, watching as his hand sunk into the water and earth. Scratches covered the top of his hand. Angry red lines seem to be a deep contrast compared to his deathly white skin. Memories of scrambling for purchase on the road slammed back to him. The panic, the fear and loss of all control … he remembered every second of that moment. Athos gasped as his headache ignited to a fiery level. He fumbled, bringing his hand to his face, pressing fingers against the main point of pain. The contact caused him to hiss as his fingers came into contact with what felt like a nasty cut just above his eyebrow. Pulling his hand away, he looked at it blearily as blood came into focus on the tips of his fingers.

“Ow…” he gasped, dropping his hand back under the shallow water.

How had he survived the fall? The question plagued his mind. Along with the panic, Athos remembered the acceptance and the feeling of falling to what he had pictured was to be his death. It had all happened so fast and for the life of him, Athos couldn’t work out how he had managed to not die.

He lifted his head, his jaw falling open and forced his eyes upward, allowing his recovering vision to take in his surroundings. A dark tree-line stood before him, leaves dancing in the slight wind. It was like the branches were calling to him, waving to him, telling him to come towards them and out of the water.

He groaned and dropped his forehead back down to the ground. He should move. He knew that. But he was so tired and sore. Maybe he’d been premature in his assumption that he had survived. He couldn’t move. He felt weighted down by bruises and aches. His whole body screamed at him. He lifted his head again, his fingers clenching around sodden dirt and sand as he tried to pull himself towards the beckoning trees.

“Arghh!” His knee lit up in agony. It felt wrong and puffy. The skin around his left knee was extremely tight and if he stayed really still the water was creating a nice numbing effect. He pressed his forehead to the wet river bank once more, squeezing his eyes shut and waited for the pain to pass. His side ached, sharp pain throbbed as if that one attempt at moving had awoken every injury that was hidden. Maybe a rib or two had been broken.

He shuddered. While the chill of the water was doing wonders for keeping him numb, a trembling had started deep in his bones. The fall hadn’t killed him. But lying in this river was going to.

Opening his eyes once more, water dripped from his lashes and off the end of his nose. He glanced to his right. The dimming light made it so that he had to concentrate especially hard. Everything was becoming shadowy and dark and if not for the trees moving in the breeze and the current of the river moving the water past him everything would have been a dark blur. Except not everything was dark and not everything fit the natural scenery. A light blue object bobbed and dipped with the water that lapped at the shore. There was a feather. Athos squinted. It looked familiar. It looked … It was a hat. Aramis’ hat. _Aramis_!

“Ar—Aramis?” Athos whispered his friend’s name. His eyes widened as he remembered the last time he’d seen the man. He’d been hanging over the crumbling side of the road refusing to let him go.  He wracked his brain, trying to remember whether Aramis had been wearing his hat as he’d been hanging onto him? Had Aramis fallen too? Was his body lying somewhere down stream not far from his favourite accessory? Athos reached out towards the headwear. He needed the hat. Aramis would want it back.

He dug his fingers into the muddy bank and with a strength he hadn’t been sure he still possessed, Athos pulled himself towards his friend’s hat. Agony ripped through his side, stealing the air from his lungs. His leg felt as if it was being ripped from his body, his nerve endings screaming at him to stop. But he couldn’t. He _needed_ that hat. He focused on the hat, ignoring the whimpering breaths sounding so foreign coming from deep in his own throat.

It felt like years before Athos felt the tips of his blood stained fingers brush the soggy fabric of Aramis’ hat. The material had darkened around the brim but it had floated well, keeping the top and the feather free from any water damage. His shaking fingers crushed the brim within his grip, pulling the hat to him. He’d won this battle. He had saved Aramis’ hat. He chuckled, lying with his forehead back on the bank. His whole body was ringing now and he couldn’t stop shaking. All he wanted to do was lay there and catch his breath. He closed his eyes. He could just rest a minute … just a minute.

 

 

 


	3. Mangled and Bloody

He was going to be sick. The thought crashed through his mind as nausea swirled around in his stomach. His vision swam, his heavy head pounding. Concussion, he definitely had a concussion. It wasn't the first time he'd received a blow to the head that left him feeling like this. It was of course the first time he'd fallen off a cliff to receive it.

Aramis closed his eyes and lowered his head. He ached. His shoulder had been strained in his effort to hold onto Athos and he was willing to bet that some lovely bruises were blossoming under his clothes considering the ache in his ribs. They weren't broken thankfully but definitely bruised. Considering the circumstances of his discomfort Aramis supposed he should be counting himself lucky. It could have been much, much worse.

His arm throbbed incessantly with every movement. It felt like each piece of his broken forearm grated against each other with each jolting step of his horse. He usually found being on top of his stead an enjoyable experience. Right now, he was grateful to have stopped. Porthos had done his best to splint the appendage and strap his arm against his body to minimize movement but it still pained him.

But he couldn't worry about the aches and pains in his body right now. He had to push on. They still had a child to protect and deliver to the king. But more importantly, they still had a member of their team to rescue - because that is what they would be doing. They would be rescuing Athos because Athos  _would_ be alive. He had to be. Aramis kept the mantra running in his head, hoping to keep his fears at bay.

"Aramis?"

There was a light pressure on his leg, squeezing gently. Aramis opened his eyes, finding Porthos looking up at him. His eyes were filled with concern just like they had been the whole ride. There was an obvious weight on Porthos' shoulders and Aramis hated that he was partly to blame but he couldn't stop, not until they found Athos.

"I'm fine."

"Who are you tryin' to fool?" Porthos asked, unable to hide the agitation from his voice. "You look like you're about to drop."

Aramis shook his head, ignoring the sharp sparks of his lingering headache that exploded behind his eyes. He shifted in the saddle. "I promise you, my friend, I have suffered worse." He had. A broken arm and a slight concussion, a few bruises; it was nothing really.

Porthos snorted. "Is 'at supposed to make me feel better?" He kept his hand resting on Aramis' leg. The connection was comforting.

Aramis shrugged and then winced as the action ignited the muscles in his strained shoulder. The pain in his broken arm was slowly becoming only a constant dull throb. "I confess, it may not have been the best example I could have used."

Porthos just raised an eyebrow, saying more than words would have in that moment. His friend was not at all convinced with his assessment of his own health and really, Aramis couldn't blame him. He must have looked a sight. He certainly felt like one.

"I'll be fine, Porthos. I promise."

d'Artagnan approached them before Porthos could argue once more. He looked up at them, his face filled with anxious energy. Aramis could relate. They needed to keep moving. "Looks like we can get the horses down to the river but it would be safer to walk them down," the younger musketeer told them as he quickly glanced behind him. "The last thing we need is for one of us to fall or for one of our horses to break a leg."

"Are you sure?" Porthos asked. "It looks steep."

"It is but trust me, the horses will be fine. We just need to be careful. I'd be more worried about Aramis getting down there in one piece."

Aramis rolled his eyes at yet another person having an opinion on his current capabilities. "I am fine."

d'Artagnan looked up at him sceptically. "You do know that constantly saying that doesn't actually make it true?"

"It doesn't matter. We need to find Athos," Aramis insisted.

d'Artagnan and Porthos shared a look before the boy reached forward and patted Aramis on the leg. "We'll find him." He stepped back and ran a hand through his hair, letting the brown wisps fall back into place framing his face. He turned to Porthos. "I'll take two horses down, get us started."

Aramis watched as the boy walked away, gathering the two horses and set about carefully navigating the animals down the muddy slope.

Juliana stood by the edge of the road, her arms wrapped around her small frame as she watched d'Artagnan's progress. Compared to her animated conversation for most of the trip so far, the girl had become extremely quiet since the attack. Part of Aramis was grateful for the reprieve in conversation. He wasn't sure his head could handle the ride down the mountain while holding a conversation at the same time.

Aramis glanced at the view before them. The river below was framed by a forest of trees on one side of its wet, muddy bank. The sky held a reddish, orange hue as the sun got lower in the sky. It wouldn't be long now til they were shrouded in the darkness of night. He could already feel the evening chill settling in around them. Aramis shuddered and he could feel Porthos' gaze locked onto him, analysing his every move, his every huff of pain-filled breath.

Aramis leaned forward in his saddle, letting his chin drop to his chest once more; curls falling over his forehead, irritating his sweaty skin. His beloved hat was long gone, having sailed over the edge when he'd first lunged to stop Athos from falling. Guilt reared its ugly head once more as he thought about his friend. He'd failed. He'd slipped and allowed Athos to hurtle towards the bottom of the cliff. The fact that he'd had the man within his grasp, literally felt the weight of his friend's life in his hands and had failed him physically hurt more than his own wounds. He could still see the look in Athos' eyes as he'd dangled from his hand. He could still hear Athos' voice asking him to let go like it had even been an option. Regret hit him like a physical blow as the scene played out in his mind's eye; like it had since he'd been pulled to safety and realised Athos hadn't been so lucky.

"Come on, let's get you down," Porthos suggested, tapping his leg to get his attention.

This was not going to be fun. He gripped the saddle tightly and forced himself up and forward to try and swing his leg over. The shaking in his limbs increased with exertion and for a moment Aramis worried he would simply fall forward into the neck of his horse. Porthos was there, hands fisted in the leather of his doublet, pulling Aramis back towards him. The leg still supporting him in the stirrup trembled and gave way, causing him to slip towards the ground. Porthos' arm wrapped around his waist as gravity took hold and sped up his descent. His forearm felt like it had snapped all over again. A curse flew past clenched teeth.

It wasn't the most graceful dismount but thanks to Porthos he hadn't ended up in a heap in the dirt. Maybe he wasn't as fine as he believed. He stood there for a few moments, Porthos' arms wrapped around him while he gained his footing and moved past the thrumming pain from his arm. Aramis waited for the world around him to straighten and his breathing to even out before he opened eyes that he hadn't even realised he'd closed.

He patted the arm that had found its way around his chest. "I'm …" he started and then stopped, thinking better of his terminology. "Thank you, my friend. I've got this."

Porthos slowly released his hold. "That's yet to be seen," he huffed. "Just … take it easy, will ya?"

"I'll do my best," Aramis responded as he took a step back.

Juliana made her way over to them and linked her arm around Aramis' good one. "Senor..."

"Aramis," he corrected. There was no need for formality in these circumstances.

"Aramis?"

"What is it?"

"Do you think we'll find Senor Athos?"

Aramis glanced at Porthos, wanting to see a positive answer to that question for himself in his friend's eyes. Porthos looked as worried as he felt and didn't exactly make him feel any better. He looked down at Juliana and was greeted with large brown eyes looking back at him.

"We're going to find him," Aramis told her with more conviction than he felt. The longer it took for them to find their friend the more his guilt weighed on him. He'd seen that drop. The likelihood of surviving the fall wasn't great. The likelihood of surviving the night in the elements if you somehow did survive the fall was even less likely. They needed to get a move on. "I promise," he added. They would find him. Aramis was just deathly afraid of the condition they would find him in.

"I am sorry, Senor."

Aramis frowned in confusion. What did she have to apologize for? Aramis gingerly lowered himself down to one knee to meet the small girl at her own level. "What are you sorry for?"

"I did not mean for trouble. I never ..."

"Hey, hey, hey ..." he interrupted her before she could finish whatever she was about to say. "Did you ask to be attacked?"

"No, but ..."

"Did you push Athos off the road?"

"No."

"Then you are not to blame. Right, Porthos?" Aramis asked, looking up towards his friend for help.

"Aramis is right," Porthos agreed as d'Artagnan crested the top of the rise and joined them on the road.

"See?" Aramis squeezed her shoulder, as much using her to keep his balance as he was to show her support. "None of this is your fault."

"In fact, you should listen to your own bloody advice," Porthos added as he walked over to his horse. d'Artagnan walked over to Aramis' horse and took the reins, leading it to the edge of the road.

"What does he mean?" Juliana asked, confusion replacing sadness.

Aramis threw a look over his shoulder at his friend before looking back at the child before him. "That doesn't matter just …no more apologies, bueno?"

Juliana still looked unsure but eventually nodded her head in agreement. "Bueno."

"Good. Let's go find Athos shall we?" Aramis waited until Juliana nodded eagerly before he pushed himself to his feet. Groaning, it took all of his effort to not stumble. He felt Porthos hovering but held the mother hen off with a wave of his uninjured arm. Forcing his knees to lock and keep him standing, Aramis closed his eyes and tried to breathe past the swirl of dizziness that swept around his head.

Once the moment had past, Aramis blinked his eyes open and found that Juliana had linked her arm with his once more.

"I'll help Aramis," Juliana declared, walking him over to the edge.

"Be careful," Porthos warned as he led his horse after d'Artagnan down the slope towards the river.

The slope was steep but an able-bodied person would have no problem getting down there. Unfortunately he was not exactly able-bodied. As soon as Aramis approached the edge of the road, his vision swam. Juliana must have felt the change in his body as she held on tighter and wordlessly waited until he was ready to begin their descent.

Halfway down Aramis' foot found a rather messy patch of mud and wet grass. He slipped backwards, his good arm flailing as his hand clutched at the only thing within reach … Juliana. The girl was small but surprisingly strong. She stood her ground holding his arm, preventing him from falling on his rear. He cringed and bent forward around his wounded arm. His eyes were clenched tightly closed as he rode through the spasm that ripped through the broken bone. Breathing in and out of his nose slowly, Aramis tried to get himself together.

"Está bien," Juliana comforted in a soft voice. "Está bien."

Aramis tried to smile as the young girl told him it was okay. It wasn't but he appreciated her effort. He opened his eyes and swallowed thickly, determined not to be sick. "Keep … keep going," he urged.

By the time they slipped and slid down to the bottom Aramis was shaking. He was covered with sweat, making him feel sticky and uncomfortable and … cold. Wiping his brow, Aramis ignored the pointed look Porthos was giving him. They didn't have time for him to fall ill to his injuries. His body hadn't had a chance to process its treatment and it could wait until he was ready.

He stood up straight, ignoring the pull on sore trembling muscles and looked towards the way they had come. He pointed up stream. "We need to head that way."

"It'll be dark soon," d'Artagnan pointed out. "We better pick up the pace. Are you up for this?" he asked, directing his question at Aramis.

"I'm …" Aramis paused and once again curbed himself from telling them he was fine. "I'll manage. Let's go."

Now that they'd reached this part, Aramis was anxious to move and terrified of what they would find all the same. The river beside them was not raging but the current was moving toward them. The sound of the water and the quiet sounds of nature surrounded them. But Aramis could only feel his tension grow with every wasted minute.

With Porthos' help, Aramis was on top of his horse once more and the four started moving upstream. Aramis watched intently for any sign of their friend. d'Artagnan and Porthos set a fast pace, wanting to cover as much ground as possible. But Aramis held back, slowing his horse into a walk as they moved along the river. He didn't want to miss something important. In truth, he felt if he moved any faster he'd fall. He was feeling more and more unsteady and he wouldn't be helping Athos if he fell off his horse.

Aramis found himself leaning forward more and more, curling protectively over his broken arm. He shuddered as he wiped at his eyes. Sweat clung to his lashes and dotted his forehead. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as his trembling increased. It was getting colder, the light dimmer. He squinted up the river in the distance as the gap between him and his friends got bigger and bigger. How long had they been travelling along the river? It felt like hours in the saddle trying to keep his balance as vertigo ravaged his senses. He glanced up at the darkening sky. It couldn't have been hours as the sun hadn't completely set yet. He shuddered again and then closed his eyes, letting slip a moan.

He stopped his horse completely, needing a small break from the constant jostling. He opened his eyes once more, taking a large breath, ignoring the tightness of his tender ribs. He heard Juliana call out and looked up to see his friends turning around. The young girl who was seated behind d'Artagnan - was pointing to something on the other side of the river. Aramis felt his heart leap into his throat. Had she found something? Had they found Athos? Pains forgotten in that instant, Aramis picked up the reins and kicked his horse into action.

By the time he reached the others, Porthos and d'Artagnan were already off their horses and racing across the river to what was obviously a body face down on the opposite bank. A lax arm was caught by a felled branch, preventing any further journey down the river.

The body looked lifeless.

xxxxxxxxx

Athos choked as he breathed in water. He spluttered and coughed, his fingers tightening around Aramis' hat. His chest burned as he expelled water. He rolled over onto his back as the world spun around him … so fast. For a moment Athos thought he'd gone blind as he looked up at the sky and all he saw was darkness. He blinked water out of his eyes and then concentrated. Dark shadows moved above him. The leaves of the trees. He wasn't blind. It was night. The sun was gone. He'd passed out. For how long? There was no telling. He wasn't shaking anymore. That had to be a good thing. Or maybe not? He couldn't remember.

He needed to get out of the water. He rolled back over again, crying out as his side protested his movements. He brought his hand to his side and frowned. His fingers brushed over the leather of his doublet and then stopped as it hit something hard and long protruding from his side. He pressed his hand to the wound with his fingers fitting around what felt like a piece of tree branch. He growled through clenched teeth. He looked up, wet hair falling across his eyes. He needed to move.

With the hand still clutching Aramis' hat and the other pressed against the wound in his side Athos began to drag himself forward. His breathing was hard fought for by the time he pulled himself clear of the water, injured leg dragging behind him uselessly. He paused for a moment, pulling Aramis' hat towards him, resting his face against the material. His chest felt tight as he panted for precious oxygen. He was shaking, not because of the cold but because of the pain. It felt like it was everywhere, snapping at him over and over again.

His eyes got heavy as he lay there. He was tired, so damn tired that he could sleep for a month … or maybe a year. Maybe forever. He could quite easily fall into oblivion right in that moment. But he couldn't. His eyes snapped open and he coughed, the motion catching in his throat and sent him into a coughing fit. Pulling Aramis' hat to him, he crushed it to his chest, gasping, spittle flying from his mouth.

By the time he gained control Athos was spent. He lay there, sucking in air greedily. He just wanted to sleep but that was not an option. He had Aramis' hat and his friend would want it back. He held onto that fact and began to move again, pulling himself along the ground until he reached the base of the closest tree. It felt like he'd dragged himself miles, not the ten feet it took him to get from the water to the tree.

Pushing himself to the limit, Athos pulled himself up into a sitting position with his back against the tree trunk. His chest heaved with exertion and pain. Resting his head back against the tree, Athos closed his eyes once more and just concentrated on breathing. His head spun even with his eyes closed and he thought he might be sick. He swallowed thickly, praying that he could at least control that. He didn't have the energy to be sick.

Once he was sure he had himself a little more under control Athos opened his eyes and glanced down at himself. Aramis' hat was still clutched to his chest like a lifeline, the frame mangled and bloody now much like his own body felt. He grimaced as he released his tight hold of the hat and placed it on the ground beside him.

He took stock of his condition and found that it wasn't promising. He still had a sturdy piece of tree branch impaled in his side. His immediate reaction was to pull the branch out. He wrapped a hand around the offending object, his breath hitching as it moved. "Shit …" he gasped. The branch hadn't breeched through his back but it had dug in deep enough to cause Athos concern. Something made him pause, made him hesitate. He was no physician. While there was some blood at the site of impact there wasn't as much blood as someone would imagine having a puncture in his side. He had nothing to staunch the bleeding. No … he needed to wait.

His knee on the other hand … maybe he could do something about that. The knee looked odd and out of shape, the joint bulging. He tried to move. He cried out as the shuddering wave of pain travelled up his leg.

A rustling could be heard in the distance. Athos tensed and stilled, doing his best to listen over the pounding in his head. Was something or someone approaching? Was it the wind? Was he losing his mind?

There it was again. Athos absentmindedly reached down and clutched Aramis' hat to him once more. He was a sitting duck right now. He reached behind clumsily to gain purchase on the tree behind him and forced himself up inch by inch. He bit down on his bottom lip as his injured leg dragged along the ground. Tears stung at his eyes but he ignored it, forcing himself to stand, his back leaning precariously against the tree. He was shaking again now, his breath coming in short pants. He twisted around the trunk of the tree, causing his injuries to lash out at their treatment, forcing a cry of pain from his throat that he couldn't contain. He stumbled, crashing to ground … hard.

_Athos!_

His name. Was someone calling his name? Maybe he  _was_  losing his mind? He wanted nothing more than to see his friend's right in that moment. But how could they be there? Why would they be there? Closing his eyes, Athos lay still, hoping the cover of darkness would camouflage him from any threats. It wasn't exactly a proactive defence but he couldn't move any further.

"Athos!" With the rush of feet and the splashing of water Athos tensed as someone crashed to the ground beside him. Hands pressed against his face and then at his throat. "Come on, come on…"

"Is 'e okay?"

"He's alive."

"Thank God."

"Athos?" The hands framed his face once more, cold fingers pressing against his abraded skin.

"Senor?" There were more hands upon him, clutching at his doublet. The voice was wavering and desperate. "Thank the lord we have found you. Por Favor, estar bien … be okay… por favour."

"Juliana, give 'im space." The girl was pulled away from him rather quickly, Porthos' voice remaining calm as he comforted the child. "Come 'ere. We found 'im, 'e'll be alright now."

"Athos? Open your eyes." It wasn't an order but more of a request and the voice did not belong to Porthos. He forced his eyes open slowly. It was still dark but there was someone leaning over him, watching him intently. "d'Artagnan …" his voice was barely above a whisper but he tried to smile to show the young man that he was glad to see him.

"It's good to see you. We thought …" d'Artagnan didn't finish his sentence. He didn't need to. Athos knew what they had all thought.

He looked at Aramis who was now also kneeling beside him. It was hard to tell with the lack of light but the Spaniard look to be in one piece for the most part. Then Aramis shifted; his movements stiff. Athos frowned. "Are you okay?" he asked, his breath hitching again as he pressed against his side. "I was … I was afraid you'd fallen too."

"I'm fine. Just a few scratches. Juliana was extremely worried about you though," Aramis supplied, throwing a glance over his shoulder at the anxious girl behind him. She still had Porthos' large arms wrapped around her. "She wouldn't take no for an answer about coming to find you."

Juliana struggled, slipping out of the large musketeer's hold. "Are you okay, Senor? I am sorry." She moved forward but refrained from diving on him as she had before. She wrung her hands in front of her. "I am so very sorry."

Athos frowned. "Sorry?" he didn't understand what the child had to be sorry for.

Aramis, shook his head. "Never mind that. You have looked better, my friend." Aramis reached out with one hand, hovering over the branch still protruding from his side. "We need to get this out of you," he commented almost as if to himself. "Where else are you hurt? Athos? Hey…" A light tap to his cheek had Athos' eyes snapping open. When had he closed them? "Hey, stay with us, okay? You need to stay awake for now. Athos?" Aramis' pressed, releasing the hold he had on his chin only when Athos nodded.

"Where else are you hurt?" Aramis asked, getting down to business. He had patched them up more times than Athos could count. Aramis' needlework was some of the best he'd ever seen. He was in good hands. His eyes slipped closed once more as if the effort of answering his friend was simply too much. "Athos? Hey …" Aramis cursed in what sounded like Spanish.

"Athos?" d'Artagnan joined the questioning. The boy's grip tightened on his arm.

Athos forced his eyes open once more. He shuddered, squinting in the dark to take in d'Artagnan's fearful expression as the younger man looked to Aramis for answers. Athos licked his lips, trying to get enough moisture to speak. "I …" he swallowed as he shuddered again. "I t-think I hurt myself," he mumbled, his gaze wondering away from Aramis to d'Artagnan and then to Porthos who seemed to loom above him. The big man had regained his hold on Juliana but in less of a restraining fashion.

"Where else are you hurt, Athos?" Aramis asked again, squeezing his shoulder, bringing his attention back to him.

Athos frowned as he tried to concentrate. "My … my leg."

"It looks misshapen. Dislocated maybe?" d'Artagnan asked, looking to Aramis for confirmation.

Aramis nodded, gently allowing his hand to hover over the swollen joint. "Porthos, we need light."

"Right," Porthos agreed readily. "Fire."

He moved away, dragging Juliana with him out of Athos' line of sight. Athos shuddered again, trying to contain the moan that wanted to slip past his lips. He forced his eyes to stay open despite how heavy his eyelids felt. His fingers clenched around the hat still clutched at his side. With more effort than it should have required, Athos pulled the hat up to his chest.

"What's this?" d'Artagnan asked, pointing out the crushed material in his hand.

Athos rested his gaze on Aramis who was busy evaluating his stomach wound. "I … I saved your hat." His lips lifted into a shaky smile.

Aramis paused, his gaze going from Athos to the mangled hat and then back again. "Well …" he said, placing his hand over Athos' hand. "That  _is_  the important thing. How about you look after it for me a bit longer, huh?"

Athos nodded shakily, tightening his grip on the once fashionable headwear.

Aramis squeezed his hand, smiled and then looked across at d'Artagnan. "I'm going to need a hand."

d'Artagnan nodded, looking only slightly nervous. "Whatever you need," he assured. "Just tell me what I need to do."

Athos shifted slightly, moaning. Clenching his jaw shut, he took to breathing in and out quickly through his nose. Aramis was looking at him again with that sense of calmness that was both soothing and irritating at the same time. "Aramis …"

"You're going to be okay. Look at me," Aramis demanded, squeezing his hand which still had hold of the crumpled hat. "I need to check to see if the bone is broken before we do anything. It's going to hurt."

It already hurt. He was one big hurt. "s'okay."

Aramis moved out of view as d'Artagnan tightened his hold on him. "It's going to be okay," the boy stated and Athos wondered if he was saying it for his benefit or for his own. d'Artagnan's nervous energy was a complete contrast to Aramis' calm.

Sharp pain erupted from his leg, taking his breath away. He jolted, as if he'd been struck and tried to pull away. A whine rumbled deep in his throat as d'Artagnan held him closer, mumbling comforting words that he couldn't quite grasp. His breath was tight in his chest as the sharp pang slowly became just a painful throb.

Darkness evaporated into a yellowish light and Athos blinked as he sucked in large breaths.

Aramis came back into view and in the newfound light he looked a mess. Bloody scratches surrounded a nasty looking bruise marring his forehead. He looked to be holding his arm to his body. "By some miracle, I do not believe the bone is broken. You're lucky."

"Lucky?" Porthos grumbled, appearing at his side once more. "'e don't look lucky."

"We need to put his knee back into place. Porthos, would you get behind him? We need to get him sitting upright."

Athos screamed as he was lifted, his side lighting up in fire as the broken branch shifted against muscle. He keened, pressing his head back against Porthos' shoulder. He panted for breath, his fingers digging into Aramis' hat.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry …" Porthos whispered in his ear.

Athos shook his head. He wanted to tell Porthos that it wasn't his fault, that he had nothing to be sorry for but he couldn't get the words past his lips.

"d'Artagnan, I need you to get his thigh pushed up towards his body," Aramis instructed as he took hold of Athos' ankle with his working hand.

d'Artagnan worked silently, doing as he was told. Athos squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think of anything but what was happening to him. He thought of the wine he'd been keeping in his room to treat his friends with once they returned home from this mission. He could almost taste the delicious liquid on his tongue. He thought of Anne and her presence in Paris … no … he couldn't think of Anne. No…

"Athos, Athos! Breathe. Hey, look at me, okay? Look at me."

Athos opened his eyes for what felt like the millionth time. Aramis was right in front of him, his gaze was intense. Aramis had his hand pressed over his hand once more. He smiled slightly, nodding at Athos when he finally received his attention. "Just breathe. You're going to be fine. d'Artagnan, now …"

There was a pause. For a second it was just him and his brothers. Just him and Aramis and then his world went white, a scream ripping from his throat as oblivion took him under.

**TBC…**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the hat … “I saved your hat.” “Well that is the important thing.” These lines came from one of my favourite parts of one of the Jurassic Park movies. Can anyone tell me which one? :P They are not out of danger yet :) will post again soon :)


	4. Between a Rock and a Hard Place

**Chapter 4. Between a Rock and a hard place.**

“How is ‘e?”

Porthos’ voice broke through the silence of night. d’Artagnan looked up from his inspection of his mentor, catching Porthos’ eyes glinting in the small firelight. Even sitting on a log, Porthos looked like an imposing figure in the dark and d’Artagnan found himself feeling lucky that the big Musketeer was on their side.

d’Artagnan pulled the blanket covering Athos up more securely under his chin and then rested his palm gently against his forehead. It was warm. They had done their best after tending to the man’s wounds to get him warmed up. As Aramis had stressed to them before he had succumbed to his own exhaustion; the combination of blood loss, his injuries and his exposure to the elements could be just as deadly as a musket ball to the head. In light of this, Porthos had spent the first few hours huddled under the blankets with Athos sharing his body heat.

“In truth, I don’t know,” d’Artagnan sighed. He pushed Athos’ hair back from his forehead before he pulled his hand away completely. “He feels warm.”

“That’s what we wanted isn’t it?” Porthos asked quietly.

“But how warm before we have to worry about fever? We don’t exactly have the luxury of sitting around. We’ve already delayed too long.” He hated saying it. They would have never moved on without looking for Athos and d’Artagnan was filled with such relief upon finding their leader alive, but the threat still remained. The longer they stayed in the one spot; the chances that their attackers would regroup and find them grew.

“I know,” Porthos agreed.

“We can’t leave him either.” That wasn’t even an option.

“I know,” Porthos said again. “We’ll give it a little longer,” he declared.

d’Artagnan nodded. A little longer.  He didn’t think a little longer was going to make a difference in their situation. Moving Athos could be fatal for the man, but so could remaining stationary. They were ill-equipped to provide adequate care for their injured comrade or fight off another attack. They were damned if they did and damned if they didn’t.

Athos was still and with the blankets piled on top of him it was hard to tell if the man’s chest was even rising and falling with breath. His complexion was eerily white in the minimal light their small fire provided. d’Artagnan resisted the urge to check the man’s condition again. Athos was still with them and wouldn’t give up without a fight, even if it were his own body with which his war waged.

Pushing himself to his feet, d’Artagnan stretched his stiff arms and legs. He rolled his shoulder, flexing muscles that were itching for action. The night was quiet and not overly cold. In fact if it weren’t for the wind it would have been quite pleasant. d’Artagnan shivered as a particularly icy breeze went through him. It reminded him that their situation was not ideal. Athos needed somewhere dry and warm to recover. They needed to get back to Paris.

d’Artagnan moved to join Porthos on his log but paused in his tracks. Both Musketeers glanced to the other side of the fire to where Juliana and Aramis had settled. d’Artagnan tensed as a whimper came, not from the child but from the seasoned soldier behind her. The sound of distress broke d’Artagnan out of his frozen state.

He quietly approached Aramis, frowning as he grew more restless with each passing second. His body seemed to be vibrating and his eyes moved erratically under closed lids. Aramis flinched in his sleep, crying out something that d’Artagnan couldn’t quite understand.

“Be careful,” Porthos warned. The other Musketeer had pulled himself up to his full height. He stood still in the one spot, waiting, watching.

d’Artagnan glanced at him briefly. “He’s going to hurt himself if he starts thrashing about.” The Spaniard’s broken arm was tightly strapped to his body, keeping it as immobile as possible. Aramis promised it was a clean break and given the proper care would heal properly. Rolling onto said broken arm in the throes of a nightmare would definitely not help.

“Jus’ … be careful,” Porthos warned again.

“No … No…” Aramis whimpered, his panicked breathing getting louder in the quiet of night.

“What…?” Juliana interrupted the moment, slowly sitting up from her curled position on the ground. She rubbed at her eyes tiredly, a frown marring her young features.

“Aramis? Hey … Aramis, wake up.” d’Artagnan inched closer to Aramis, kneeling beside his friend’s torso. He reached forward and wrapped his fingers around the older man’s left wrist, hoping to still his movements and bring him back to the land of consciousness.

Aramis reacted, wrapping his own fingers around d’Artagnan’s wrist in a vice-like grip and twisted. He growled as d’Artagnan found himself falling to his back to take pressure off his strained wrist. Aramis rolled, kneeing him in the stomach, his eyes open and wild.

“Aramis!” Porthos hissed from somewhere above them and then suddenly the painful grip on him was released and Aramis was backed away from him in a rush of talking and movement.

d’Artagnan blinked up at the dark night sky and coughed. He rubbed his wrist as he frowned and tried to work out how he had ended up on his back. Somewhere to his right there was a pained moan and soothing whispered words.

Suddenly a face loomed over him. Long wisps of dark hair had come loose and had fallen in her face as Juliana scrutinized him from above.

“Ouch,” d’Artagnan said by way of greeting as the young girl stood back slightly and held out her hand. d’Artagnan reached forward and accepted her offer of help, allowing her to pull him up to a seated position, his legs straight out in front of him. “Thank you.”

“Are you okay, Senor?” Juliana asked, standing there as if she would not move until he confirmed that he was indeed okay.

“I’m …”

“God, d’Artagnan, I’m sorry,” Aramis stated, interrupting anything he had been about to say.

Aramis was on the ground in a similar positon to himself a couple of feet away, Porthos crouched by his side. He was cradling his injured arm in a way that made d’Artagnan think he’d aggravated the injury despite d’Artagnan’s best efforts to prevent that from happening.

“It’s okay.”

“No … It’s not.”

“Aramis, I promise you, no harm was done.” It was true enough. He had been more shocked than anything.  His uncle had advised him many years before against waking someone up who was sleep-walking. d’Artagnan mentally added nightmares to that list. He held out his hand once more and Juliana took it without hesitation, allowing him to use her for support so he could force himself to his feet.

Once d’Artagnan was standing, Juliana let go of his hand and shuffled around to where Athos lay undisturbed by the late night antics of his companions. She sat beside him on the ground, close enough to touch. She reached out hesitantly at first, resting the back of her hand against his pale and scratched-up cheek.

Content that Athos was being looked after by someone devoted to his health, d’Artagnan turned back to Aramis and Porthos.

“I’m fine,” d’Artagnan told them, waving a hand in Aramis’ direction.  “You on the other hand are dangerous asleep _and_ awake.”

“I _did_ warn ya,” Porthos quipped, a small grin forming on his face as he clapped his large hand on Aramis’s shoulder.

“Yeah. Thanks.” d’Artagnan responded, resisting the urge to rub at his tender wrist again. Aramis was watching him with tired, haunted eyes. He didn’t want to give his friend anything more to worry about.

“You want to tell us what that was about?” Porthos asked.

Aramis winced. “Just a dream. A very vivid dream.”

d’Artagnan moved towards Aramis as Porthos took a few steps back to give them room. He crouched by where Aramis sat. The sharpshooter looked pale even in the glow of the firelight. Aramis leaned forward, his head falling into his left hand, allowing his fingers to massage his forehead. He hissed, obviously having forgotten about the wound on his temple.

“Shit,” Aramis cursed.

“Are you okay?” Juliana queried quietly. She was watching them intently as she absentmindedly carded her fingers through Athos’ hair.

Aramis winced, but nodded. d’Artagnan raised an eyebrow, deciding to keep his true opinion of that assessment to himself. He reached out and squeezed the older man’s shoulder and ducked low to try and catch Aramis’ eyes. “Forgive me,” he whispered. “But you don’t look okay.”

Porthos towered above them both, his eyes on the area around them. He was watching, listening and trusting d’Artagnan to take charge of their stubborn medic.

Aramis shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut for a second before he took a long shaky breath, and then looked back at d’Artagnan. “My arm, it’s …a little sore,” he conceded.

“Right,” d’Artagnan answered.

“I’m ... I’m afraid sleep might not have been the best idea either.”

“You need it though,” Porthos added from above.

“Maybe so, but restful sleep seems to have eluded me.” Aramis’ lips tilted up into a small smile at d’Artagnan. “I am very sorry. I wasn’t myself.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for but if it makes you feel better? You’re forgiven. How about you get some more rest.”

Porthos nodded. “We’ll ‘ave to make a move soon. Whether we’re ready or not. You should rest while you can.”

“No,” Aramis said. “I can’t rest. Not like this.” He held out his left hand, which d’Artagnan immediately took. “Help me up.”

Once on his feet, Aramis wavered dangerously, his eyes closed as he took slow and even breaths. d’Artagnan kept his friend’s hand firmly in his, Porthos hovering, holding onto Aramis’ upper arm for that extra bit of support. Once Aramis’ equilibrium seemed to have come back to him, d’Artagnan released his hold. “Alright then; if you’re going to be stubborn about it.”

Porthos lead their injured friend over to the log he had been using for a seat and helped to lower him down. Aramis winced and shifted until he was somewhat comfortable. Porthos carefully sat down next to the smaller man and picked up the stick he had been using to stoke the small fire. Tiny bits of burning leaf scuttled up into the air as the fire grew to a more desirable level and d’Artagnan relished in what little warmth he could feel from the small embers.

“How’s Athos?” Aramis asked, his gaze landing on their silent comrade. Juliana glanced over at them but otherwise remained quiet.

d’Artagnan wanted to tell him that he was fine, that he was improving but he couldn’t be sure of anything. And given that they were going to have to move the man long before he would be able to ride was weighing heavily on his mind.

“He cannot ride,” Aramis stated, as if he had been reading d’Artagnan’s thoughts. “He’s not ready.”

“We can’t stay ‘ere,” Porthos stated, frustration evident in his tone

“What are our options then?” d’Artagnan asked. They were stuck between a rock and a hard place … more like an impossible place.

“Maybe …” Aramis started, gasping in pain as Porthos nudged him hard with his elbow. “Ow!”

“Don’t say it.”

“Porthos,” Aramis sighed. Fatigue weighed him down in waves, leaving his head hanging and a constant frown obscuring his normally happy features. “I wouldn’t suggest this unless it was absolutely necessary.”

d’Artagnan kicked at the dirt in frustration as he watched his friends have a whole conversation with barely saying anything at all. He might have still been learning the inner workings of these relationships but d’Artagnan was smart enough to know the basics of this conversation. He liked the turn of events just as much as Porthos. “You want to separate.”

“No, d’Artagnan, I don’t _want_ to separate,” Aramis stated tiredly, looking up at him from under a mess of blood encrusted curls. d’Artagnan tried not to take his tone personally. “I don’t want to send Athos to the grave prematurely. He is not fit to ride.”

“And staying behind in the middle of nowhere with no help in sight will just as surely kill him. Athos needs medical attention.”

“You think I am not aware?”

“You wouldn’t ‘ear of us seperatin’ before,” Porthos pointed out.

“That was different,” Aramis argued.

“No. We’re not separating,” d’Artagnan stated, standing his ground.

“He cannot ride, d’Artagnan.”

“Gentle…men.” 

The voice was barely above a whisper but it sounded as if the simple word had been shouted, reverberating around the small campsite and putting an end to the escalating battle of wills. d’Artagnan snapped around to face Athos. The man was awake. His eyes were open and he was awake. Juliana pulled her hand away from Athos’ head quickly and shuffled back slightly. “Senor Athos, you’re awake. Gracias a dios.”

d’Artagnan rushed to the man’s side, automatically placing a hand to the man’s head. Athos moved his head, scrunching up his nose. “Do … Do I get a-a choice?” he asked, taking a deep breath.

“How are you feeling?” d’Artagnan asked. He received a glare for his trouble. “Okay … stupid question.”

Aramis and Porthos approached, the big man’s hand still holding steady to Aramis’ bicep. Aramis gingerly knelt down next to d’Artagnan, Porthos remaining standing, watching their surroundings. “Do you remember what happened?” Aramis asked.

Aramis reached out and pulled the blanket away, causing Athos to shudder and try to pull away as Aramis pressed his fingers to his neck to check his pulse. “Get’off me,” he grumbled, closing his eyes.

“Athos, hey … Do you remember what happened?” Aramis asked again.

Athos swallowed, wincing before he looked at Aramis. “Your hat.”

Aramis nodded and smiled. “That’s right. You saved it.” Saved was an interesting term for the condition of the headwear. It was now crumbled with bloody fingerprints and probably not salvageable but Aramis had kept it, placing it in his saddlebag for safe keeping.

“Knew you’d want it.” Athos mumbled.

“Do you remember what happened?” Aramis asked again.

“We … ahh … need to get to Paris,” Athos frowned at them as if he wasn’t quite sure. “Juliana…”

“Si, I am here, Senor,” Juliana stated. “You are so very brave.”

d’Artagnan tensed as he felt Porthos shift behind him. Something had changed. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Twisting to look up at Porthos, d’Artagnan followed his line of sight up to the night sky. Way up above them a light was flickering. d’Artagnan abruptly stood, squinting in an attempt to see better.

“Someone’s up there?” He asked Porthos without taking his gaze from above.

_“Down there!”_ a voice shouted from above.

“We need to move. Get the fire,” Porthos ordered.

d’Artagnan was on the move before Porthos had even finished his sentence, smothering the fire with dirt. He stamped out the last of it with his boot as their small camp erupted into action.

d’Artagnan moved quickly, gathering their belongings and sending a silent thanks to God that they had decided to leave their horses saddled. Porthos was now leaning over Athos, as d’Artagnan approached to help. “Can he do this?” d’Artagnan asked. Despite his argument with Aramis only moments before, he was well aware that Aramis had a valid point.

“e’s got no choice now. ‘elp me get ‘im up.”

“Leave me …” Athos croaked.

“Not a chance, my friend,” Aramis stated with a tone that brokered no argument. He looked to Porthos. “Can you handle him?”

Porthos nodded as he and d’Artagnan awkwardly got Athos to his feet. The man in question cried out through clenched teeth, breathing harshly through his nose. Once upon the horse, Porthos swung himself up behind Athos and braced the man as he went limp. “”e’s still with us. Hurry.”

Juliana had already mounted her horse so d’Artagnan turned to Aramis as the man made two failed attempts at pulling himself into his saddle. “Your turn,” he said as he cupped his hands low and then hoisted the Spaniard up onto the horse.

“Thank you.” Aramis winced as he moved, wrapping the reins around his left hand. He nudged his horse into motion “Porthos?”

“I ‘ave ‘im, Aramis. Let’s go, yeah?”

d’Artagnan allowed his friends to move on first and pulled up beside Juliana who looked incredibly small sitting on Athos’ horse by herself. He leaned towards her, catching her eyes. “Stick by me, okay? We’ll get you to safety. I Promise.”

Juliana nodded mutely and d’Artagnan just hoped that he would be able to keep that promise.

 

xxxAll4Onexxx

 “Stop.”

The request had been breathless as Athos fought not to vocalize his physical discomfort. He closed his eyes, not being able to handle the seesaw quality of his vision as the horse moved at what would normally be a leisurely gait. Their speed was nowhere near appropriate for their predicament but it was too much for him. His leg throbbed from deep inside the joint and the discomfort just seemed to climb with the sun as it rose high in the sky.

Aramis had set the knee back into place ... no, wait. d’Artagnan had set it. At least he thought they had. He remembered blinding agony and then not much else.

Their speed slowed, making the ride more jarring. A moan slipped past his lips, and he dropped his head forward. He pressed his hand harder against the wound in his side. It was wet. He was bleeding ... again.  Porthos pulled tighter on the reins, bringing them to a complete stop.

“How’re you doin’?” Porthos asked.

Athos felt his friend’s breath against his ear. It was hot and close. He shuddered even as he tried to formulate a response that seemed adequate. The bulk of Porthos right arm was wrapped around his upper body, pinning him to the man’s chest. It was quite frankly the only thing keeping him from falling to the ground in an undignified heap.

Athos huffed in response. No other answer would really satisfy anyone and he simply didn’t have the energy to string words together. With his head still hanging forward, Athos opened his eyes and was greeted by the thick dark mane of Porthos’ horse. It felt like they had been riding for days, maybe they had; tracking time was an ability that had been completely lost to him since the cliff.

“Athos?”

Porthos’ voice was gruff, worried. Apparently he expected an actual response. With more effort than it should have taken, Athos raised his head, sweat soaked hair stuck to his forehead. The sun caressed his skin adding to the temperature that was already building there. He glared at the sky, cursing its brightness against his eyes. His head fell back against Porthos’ shoulder as he attempted to pull in slow deep breaths.

“Aramis!”

Porthos’ booming voice caused him to startle, the sound slammed around in his head. He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut against the growing headache. It was right behind his eyes, thrumming with a life of its own.

“How is he?”

d’Artagnan’s voice came from somewhere behind them. He had half a mind to open his eyes and check on his young friend. The other half of his mind didn’t want to move ... not even an eyelid. It was taking all of his effort to simply breathe a poor example of a full breath.

“Not good,” Porthos insisted, his arm holding him impossibly tighter. “Aramis?” he called again.

“I’m here,” Aramis stated from somewhere to his left. There was a pause before the Spaniard continued. “He can’t travel much further. We cannot continue on like this.”

“We should stop, yes?”

Juliana. Athos memories as to the reasoning of his current situation came flooding back. “No,” he huffed, his voice barely a whisper. He opened his eyes to find a blurry version of Aramis staring back him. He didn’t need to see the man clearly to know that he would be frowning in concern. He didn’t need his eyes to focus on the marksman to see that he was hunched over the saddle. He wasn’t the only one hurt. And their mission was important not just because the King wanted information from the girl in their charge but because her life was now in danger because of that information. They couldn’t stop.

“But Senor Athos, you’re hurt,” Juliana debated.

Athos rolled his head towards the young girl’s voice, forcing Porthos to move his head back to avoid them clashing. Juliana was sitting close, her leg brushing up against Porthos’. He blinked a few times to force his eyes to focus. Her large brown eyes displayed her anxiousness loud and clear. Taking a few calming breaths, Athos licked at his dry lips before speaking. “Don’t worry.”

“But I do. This is my fault. You will die and I cannot allow that to happen,” The teen’s voice was shaky but her conviction was clear. “I will ...” she paused, looking down as she considered her thoughts. She looked up to meet his gaze. “I will go on ahead. I can ride ... like the wind.”

Athos gasped as a cool hand came out of nowhere and rested on the overheated skin on his forehead. The contrast between the temperature of Aramis’ hand and his skin caused him to startle again.

“Easy,” Porthos cajoled.

“She c-cant ... you can’t let her.” There was no way that Juliana would be riding to Paris by herself.

“No-one’s leaving ... shhh,” Porthos assured him.

“He’s burning up,” Aramis stated. He moved his hand away from Athos’ forehead and lowered it to the wound in his side. He pulled the leather aside to peer at the seeping hole. “He’s bleeding again. Porthos ...”

“I know,” Porthos stated.

“Leave me,” Athos suggested once again.

He knew he wouldn’t have to wait long for the rebuttal. Musketeers didn’t give up and Musketeers certainly didn’t leave anyone behind. All for one and one for all; that was their motto. But their mission went above any sense of duty to friendship. They needed to see Juliana back to Paris safely.

“Not going to happen,” d’Artagnan said.

Porthos arm tensed around him, argument already forming at even the thought. “Don’t be stu...”

“He’s right,” Aramis interrupted.

“What?” Porthos and d’Artagnan asked in unison.

“He cannot go much further and we cannot afford to stop. Not with those men on our tails.”

“So you just want to leave him out in the middle of nowhere, bleeding all over the place?” d’Artagnan asked incredulously.

Athos focused his gaze on Aramis, taking in the man’s fatigue, the way the skin crinkled in the corner of his eyes as he squinted. He recognised the expression to not be one of merriment but of pain. Given the state of the man’s head, the Spaniard had to be sporting a spectacular headache to rival Athos’ own. They were both slowing the party down. There was no easy way out of this. Juliana had to be their priority.

“Don’t think me so callous, d’Artagnan. I have no intention of leaving Athos to fend for himself.”

“You’re askin’ us to leave you both?” Porthos asked.

“I don’t see much of a choice here. Neither of us can ride as fast as is needed.”

“And you’ll do what when those bandits catch up to you?” d’Artagnan asked, clearly not at all happy with how their situation had brought them to this.

“We’ll be the perfect distraction,” Aramis stated with confidence. “We’ll stick to the road. You will cut across and through the trees. It’ll slow you down a little but it’ll cover your tracks. Athos and I would never make that kind of ride.”

“Do it…” Athos agreed. He hated being a liability. He hated that they were torn because of him.

“It’ll work,” Aramis assured them. “But we need to move now. We don’t have a lot of time.”

“I don’t like this,” Porthos rumbled from behind him.

“This is a bad idea,” Juliana agreed.

“It’s the only one we have. We must act now. Porthos...” Aramis insisted. He reached over and grabbed a handful of Athos’ shirt to keep him steady.

Porthos didn’t move and for a long moment their party was silent. The peaceful quiet of nature around them was soothing. His eyelids grew heavy and he almost felt himself drifting until finally the mass keeping him upright huffed and then moved. Athos growled through clenched teeth as he leaned forward, resting his hot forehead on the horses mane. He shuddered as Porthos’ body heat was suddenly gone completely from his back.

“I don’t like this, Aramis.” Porthos repeated, allowing Athos to track his voice to where he was now seated on another horse, forcing d’Artagnan and Juliana to share.

“You don’t have to, my friend. You just need to get Juliana to Paris. There is a farm a couple of miles north-west from here not far from the road. Come and collect us from there once you are done.” Aramis instructed, keeping his hold tight on Athos.

“We’ll be back as soon as we can,” d’Artagnan said begrudgingly.

Juliana wrapped her arms around d’Artagnan’s middle but Athos found her gaze locked onto his. “I am sorry, Senor,” she stated again, pressing her face into d’Artagnan’s back.

Athos shook his head. “Go ... get out of here.” He ordered them as he tightened his hold on the saddle and the horse’s mane.

With only a moments more hesitation, d’Artagnan and Porthos set off in the direction of Paris. Athos remained still, watching as his friends picked up speed, putting further distance between them.

Within moments they were alone. Two injured musketeers left to fend for themselves. Athos didn’t like the odds should their attackers catch up to them. In fact Athos didn’t like their odds of making it to that farm in general. If he fell from his horse there would be no getting back up into his saddle. The thought caused Athos to hold on impossibly tighter.

Turning to Aramis – who was simply watching him – Athos took another deep breath before lifting his lips in some sort of horrifying attempt at a smile. “I’m fine.”

Aramis chuckled and shook his head.

“What?” Athos asked.

“Nothing, my friend, the shoe is just on the other foot.” Aramis looked over his shoulder and then out towards where their friends had gone. “We should go. Can you ride a little further?”

“Yes, just ... go slow.” If they continued at a walk maybe he’d be okay.

Almost reluctantly, Aramis released his hold of Athos’ shirt and reached for the reins. As they started moving, Athos found his world see-sawing again in a sickening fashion. He closed his eyes and tightened his hold on the saddle to the point that he was sure his grip would be imprinted into the leather.

He felt heavy and hot. His skin was covered in a light sheen of sweat, causing him to feel sticky and uncomfortable. But he kept his mouth shut. Aramis didn’t need to hear his complaints. No, he would just put his head down, keep his eyes closed and hold himself tight enough to stay in his saddle until Aramis told him it was okay to relax. That was his job now that Juliana was no longer in the picture. He just needed to survive.

Harrowing circumstances were all part of the job description as a Musketeer. All was put on the line for King and Country. They had made the right decision to separate from their brothers. Athos would not be a liability to any of them ... or their mission. Juliana needed to be safe. Once she delivered whatever information she held for the King she would be. That was what was most important.

“Athos? Hey ... Athos?”

Athos huffed and raised his head, frowning with his eyes still closed. He turned in the general direction of Aramis’ voice, noting the concern heavy in his friend’s tone.

“We’re approaching the farm. Only a little bit further now.”

Athos grunted his acknowledgement, dropping his head back forward. Even with his eyes closed and darkness all around him, Athos couldn’t stop the dizziness from making him unsteady. His muscles quivered with the effort of keeping himself in the saddle. He wasn’t sure he was going to make it just _a little bit further now_.

Was the sun higher in the sky? It should have been well on its way to setting but Athos was roasting. It was a suffocating heat that added to his equilibrium problem. Sitting up straighter, Athos forced his eyes open. The world before him wavered in and out in a mix of colours. He moaned, struggling to control the nausea that had built up in the base of his throat.

A farmhouse materialised before them, leaving Athos bewildered at how they had come up on it all of a sudden. The building was made from a dark grey brick, green vines had attached themselves to the outer walls and were travelling past the second story window to the roof.

“I said leave ... now!”

Athos blinked and wondered when another person had come into the equation. An old woman with snow-white hair held in a messy bun and simple clothes stood before the front door of the house. Athos eyes widened as he took in the musket that was pointed in his friend’s direction. It looked too big in the woman’s hands but the lack of trembling told Athos that this woman wasn’t afraid to use the large weapon.

He made an effort to sit up straighter, breathing heavy through the fog of heat that still seemed to surround him.

“Madame, as I stated before, we mean you no harm. My friend here is injured...”

The woman took a step forward. “He looks bloody horrible.”

Athos stiffened at the assessment, but made no move to prove her wrong. He ached all over and he was sure a strong breeze would have been able to knock him from his perch on the horse.

“We’re King’s Musketeers,” Aramis explained, holding his hands up in a non-threatening manner. The Spaniard had yet to dismount either. “My friend here took a tumble and needs rest somewhere dry and warm. We don’t ...”

“Musketeers you say?” The old woman interrupted. “In service to King Louis?” She moved closer again, squinting at them.

Aramis glanced at Athos, raising an eyebrow before bringing his attention back to the woman analysing them. “Yes.”

“Come down here,” the woman demanded, giving the musket a shake in Aramis’ direction. “Let me get a better look at you.”

For a second he just sat there, his expression contemplative. Then he pushed up, wincing as he swung his leg over the back of the horse and then disappeared on the other side. He let a stifled groan slip and leaned his head against the side of his horse. “Aramis?” He called breathlessly.

The woman approached cautiously. “Your friend is not the only one suffering by the looks of you.”

Aramis pulled himself up straight and allowed the old woman to close the distance between them. Athos closed his eyes, allowing his head to drop forward. He was so tired. He pressed his hand against his side. It was still wet with his blood. If this woman didn’t accept their story soon he would likely bleed out in front of them. He swallowed against another wave of nausea. Athos grimaced. He leaned forward, the course hair of his horse’s mane tickled his nose as he rested his head there. Just for a moment … just for a moment.

“Athos!”

He was slipping. Gravity was weighing heavily on him. It was like a blanket had been laid over his shoulders, pressing upon him to give up and fall into the darkness waiting.

“Athos! Not now! Just stay awake a little longer! Athos!”

Athos opened his mouth to apologise but nothing came out. Any remaining strength he’d had in him had fled and for a dizzying moment he was weightless again just like he’d been on that cliff. He was falling then crashing. Arms wrapped around him, followed by a pained gasp before Athos willingly let go and sunk into oblivion.

TBC ...


	5. Truth Revealed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was the subject of more re-writes and is the last chapter. Took me a little longer to post than I wanted to but better late than never, right? Hehe …

**Chapter 5. Truth Revealed.**

Aramis almost collapsed on top of his friend as he attempted to help lower him to the bed. Athos didn’t move. He didn’t even utter a sound as Aramis accidently elbowed him in his already tender ribs. He was pale, no … he was white as a ghost. Panic seized Aramis’ trembling limbs. They were so close to safety. He couldn’t lose him now. “Athos…” he reached out with his good hand and pressed desperate fingers against Athos’ throat. He found himself sliding from the side of the bed, his legs in a tangled heap under him. He waited, biting his bottom lip. He couldn’t feel anything. “No …”

Surprisingly strong elderly hands wrapped around his wrist and pulled his hand away from his friend’s neck. “No …wait …”

“Sit back, young man,” The old lady commanded, pulling back on his shoulders to ease him away from the bed.

“I can’t feel a pulse,” Aramis stated, his voice barely above a whisper.

His host left him shaking on the floor as she took his spot sitting on the bed and placed her own fingers to Athos’ throat, as she held his wrist delicately in her other hand. Her wrinkled face was pensive. Aramis stumbled to his feet, his gaze locked on the scene before him. His heart seemed to have climbed into his very dry throat. He couldn’t swallow or breathe and for a moment he thought he would be next.

“He’s alive,” The old lady stated. She reached up further to brush an errant hair off the older Musketeers forehead.

“How? I c-couldn’t feel …”

The old lady turned to him with a frown. “I sincerely doubt you could have felt anything with your hands shaking as they are.” She stood up with a swiftness which shocked him and grabbed him by the arm. “Now for the love of God, sit down before you fall down. One unconscious Musketeer is quite enough, thank you very much.” Aramis found himself pulled over to a high-back chair at the end of the bed and pushed to sit.

It was all happening very fast. One minute the woman was holding a Musket pointed at his face and now they were in her house being given orders directly related to their health and Athos … Athos was still in danger. “My friend …”

“Will be no better for you doing yourself harm. Now just sit and let me take a look at him,” she ordered, her tone harsh.

She didn’t wait for a response. She moved back to Athos and pressed one hand to his forehead as her other hand deftly moved aside his open doublet. She frowned and muttered under her breath as she inspected Athos’ injuries.

Aramis wanted nothing more to be standing there, taking charge of his friend’s medical needs. It was his responsibility. He needed to be helping Athos. But … his limbs were so heavy. He dropped his pounding head to his good hand as his body slumped back into the soft cushions of the chair. He squeezed his eyes shut as his arm screamed at him. Moving Athos inside from where he’d fallen from his horse with only one arm and the help of elderly woman had caused him to hit his reserves. His body was tight with stress and pain and his chest was tightening with each breath. Aramis slowed his breathing and tried to ignore his cracked and broken bones screams for attention.

“Son? Son … can you hear me?”

Aramis jumped at the feel of a weathered palm against his face. His eyes snapped open and he looked around wildly before they settled on the old woman. “What?”

“I’ll be needing to go and get some supplies to help your friend. You stay with us now, you hear?”

Aramis frowned, his gaze shifting to Athos’ prone form on the bed for a second before the palm against his cheek lightly tapped. His gaze met her vivid blue one and he nodded. God, he needed to keep it together. He swallowed thickly and then nodded with more conviction. “Yes. I’m okay.”

The woman eyed him suspiciously. “Don’t move. I cannot carry you if you end up on my floor.” Without waiting for an answer she backed away from him and turned for the door, muttering about stubborn Musketeers as she left the room.

Aramis blinked. God, he felt awful. He tried to pull himself more upright in the chair. Athos still lay on the bed, unmoving. The urge to go to his friend became stronger with each passing minute but the woman was right. If he crashed to the floor now he didn’t think he’d be able to pick himself up either. Lying his head back against the chair, Aramis looked to the ceiling. He reached up and wiped at his burning tired eyes with the palm of his hand. What had become of d’Artagnan and Porthos? Had they encountered any trouble? Would they make it to Paris safely? Although he still felt he had made the right choice to separate, it didn’t mean that he liked it any more than they had.

The old woman bustled into the room carrying a basket and some linen. He watched her as she approached the bed and sat down.

Aramis sat forward, biting his bottom lip against the grating pain in his arm. Using his good hand he pulled himself into a standing position. His gasp, caused the woman to turn towards him, a frown on her face.

“I thought I told you to not move,” she remarked in annoyance.

“That …” Aramis paused, reaching out for the bed post for balance. “That was while you were gone.”

“Don’t play smart with me, Lad. I’m in no mood.” She stood up and brushed past him, nearly knocking him to the floor in her haste. She proceeded to drag the chair around to the side of the bed. “Sit. Now. Or I will leave you on the floor where you fall. Don’t you think for a moment that I wont.”

Aramis took a long breath before making a move. His legs were heavy and unbalanced as he stumbled towards the chair. “You need to … You need to flush out the wound in his side,” he stated. By the time he reached the chair he sat down gratefully. “Infection …”

“Oh shush,” The lady responded, waving a hand dismissively in his direction.

Aramis raised an eyebrow. Did she just shush him?

“I am not a novice, my dear. I know my way around many injuries,” she explained as she pulled away Aramis’ hastily made bandages. A look of disgust past over her aged features as she tossed the soiled material into a bucket by her feet.

Athos groaned as she prodded the ragged hole in his side. It was a beautiful sound after the silence of before. Aramis sat forward, hunched around his broken arm still strapped to his body. “You’ve dealt with this kind of thing before then?” he asked.

“You deal with many types of injury and sickness when your husband is the King’s Chief physician.”

Aramis frowned, trying to place her at court. “King Louis?”

The old woman laughed. “Thank the Lord, no. His father. King Henry. He was a good man. My husband worked as his majesty’s primary health carer for many years until his untimely death. I worked alongside him as his assistant. We were occasionally called upon to patch up the Kings Guard.”

Athos gasped and arched as alcohol was poured over the wound in his side. Aramis winced in sympathy. Despite her gruff demeanour, the old woman’s touch and ministrations to his ailing friend were soft and caring. Her movements spoke of knowledge. He found himself relaxing a little in the knowledge that he had help. _Athos_ had some real help. Probably better than what he could have offered in the best of circumstances. “Sounds like the King was in good hands.”

The old woman paused at his words and then pressed a cloth over the puncture site. “He was but … poor Herbert never did forgive himself for not being able to save his majesty.”

“He blamed himself for the King’s poisoning?

“In a sense. For not being able to save him. Unfortunately so did the Queen. Marie had Herbert … she had him…” The woman trailed off. She didn’t need to say anymore. Aramis knew exactly how ruthless Marie De Medici could be.

The old woman took a moment to reach up and stroke a hand through Athos hair, shushing him gently as his breathing picked up pace. “You’re alright … shhhh,” she told him softly.

“Thank you,” Aramis told her genuinely. “I am sorry for the inconvenience our arrival has caused. I am in your debt.”

“Do not thank me yet, my boy. I can only do so much for your friend. His wound is indeed infected and fever is raging. I will do my best to get his temperature down. Where else is he hurt?”

“His knee,” Aramis told her. She slowly stood and gazed down at his knee before moving towards his breeches, her intent to remove them obvious. “It was forced out of place. I managed to get it back into … p-place. I c-can help.” Aramis stood as he spoke.

“Sit. I will not tell you again.”

Aramis paused, his lips twitching into a smile. His expression quickly lost its mirth when he found the determined blue eyes glaring at him. He wisely lowered himself back to the chair with another wince. He felt like he was back in Paris, the subject of Constance’s ire. It was nice and familiar after such stress.

“You think I’ve never gotten a man out of a pair of breeches before?”

Aramis found himself raising his eyebrow again. Was that a smirk on the woman’s face? It was hard to tell with her focus now back on Athos. It was the first bit of humour he’d received since meeting the woman. She was not only strong and bossy but this woman had spunk and Aramis couldn’t help but feel comfortable in her presence.

Strong hands made quick and careful work of stripping Athos from his breeches. Aramis peered around the old lady at the injured leg. The whole knee was puffy and discoloured. The woman’s hands inspected the wound as gently as possible, muttering to herself again.

“Well?” Aramis pressed when the muttering didn’t evolve into anything resembling conversation.

The woman sighed. “Well … everything seems to be in place. He will be sore for a good while. In time his knee should be fine.” The woman stood, wiping her hands on her skirts. “I’ll get some cool water and a cloth and then I’ll check you over.

“I’m fine.” The words were out of Aramis’ mouth before he could stop himself. He grinned up at his host. She was not amused. “But, I appreciate your care, Madame.” He politely added.

“Rosa,” she corrected. “Please call me Rosa. My name is Rosalie Lemaire.”

“Aramis,” he introduced. “Thank you, Rosa, from the bottom of my heart.” Aramis placed his left hand over his heart. “Your kindness will not be forgotten.”

Rosa smiled down at him. “Anything for a King’s Musketeer. I won’t be a moment. Don’t …”

“Move,” Aramis finished for her. “I remember.”

Aramis watched Rosa leave the room. He couldn’t believe their luck in finding someone who could help with Athos wounds. His relief was short-lived though as he remembered the danger they were still in – the danger they’d possibly now put Rosa in. He needed to check the grounds, check if they had been followed. But first he would just close his eyes for a moment … just for a moment.

XXXAll4OneXXX

“Porthos!” d’Artagnan shouted, pulling on the reins of his horse. “Porthos!” he shouted again when the other man didn’t immediately respond. “We need to stop!”

They had been riding for hours. Their speed had been fast and steady until they had decided to do as Aramis has suggested and use the woods as cover. There had been no time for talking or even acknowledging anything except the need to get to Paris as quickly as absolutely possible. Porthos was a head of him – a man on a mission - and d’Artagnan would have pitied anyone who tried to get in the big man’s way.

d’Artagnan pulled his horse to a complete stop and wiped at the sweat clinging to his forehead. Juliana was still clinging to him as if they were riding at high speeds, her body pressed to his back. True to form since the first attack, she remained silent, not once complaining about anything. But d’Artagnan knew she had to be exhausted – he certainly was.

The woods were thick with trees around them, creating a form of obstacle course for them. A small creek trickled beside them, making his mouth water. He couldn’t remember the last time any of them had had a drink.

d’Artagnan gasped as his horse moved too close to another tree, crushing his leg in between its large body and the trunk of a tree. He was getting the message loud and clear. “Porthos!” he called again, frustration in his voice.

Porthos finally pulled his horse to a stop and awkwardly turned the beast around so that he was facing them. “What?”

“We need to stop.”

Porthos shook his head. “The faster we get back to Paris, the fast we can get back to Aramis and Athos.”

Juliana seemed to squeeze her arms tighter around d’Artagnan’s torso, causing him to suck in a breath to accommodate. d’Artagnan bit down on his bottom lip and nodded. He felt the same need that they all did. But someone had to be the voice of reason. “We won’t do anyone any good if we kill the horses. They need to rest and so do we. Even for a few moments.”

Porthos looked torn. The fight between his anxiousness and what he knew was right was clear in his eyes.

“Just for a moment, Porthos.” d’Artagnan pressed.

Porthos growled but conceded. He swung his leg over the horse in front of him and slid to the ground. He shook his head in frustration as he approached d’Artagnan. “Come on then.” Holding out his hands to Juliana, Porthos waited until the girl silently let go of her death grip on d’Artagnan and fell into Porthos’ arms.

d’Artagnan took a large breath as the young girls body heat was removed from behind him. His back felt sweaty and hot and he was looking forward to dismounting and stretching his legs even if it was for a few moments. “The horses need water,” he stated as he dropped to the ground. He led his horse over to the tiny stream. The animal immediately took his fill, only a little more greedily than d’Artagnan did as he crouched down and cupped his hands in the cool water.

Beside him – little further down – Porthos was doing the same. d’Artagnan splashed some water on his face, allowing the water to trail down and fall off his chin. He glanced around him and frowned. Juliana was leaning against a nearby tree, arms wrapped around her small frame in the same stance she’d taken since the initial attack.

d’Artagnan filled his water skin and then splashed some water on the back of his neck before he straightened. His legs protested the movement, demanding more rest than the small respite they were being given. He ignored their pleas and approached the young girl.

“Here,” he said. He held out the water skin for her to take. “You need to drink.”

Juliana glanced up at him, hesitating for a few moments before finally reaching out and taking the water skin. She lifted it to her lips and took a few sips and then handed it back wordlessly. She glanced up at him nervously again before she directed her gaze to the leaf-covered ground.  She looked miserable and hadn’t said a word since they had parted ways with Aramis and Athos.

“Are you … okay?” d’Artagnan asked awkwardly. It seemed a strange question to ask a thirteen year old girl who was currently running for her life with two strangers. But what else was he to say?

Juliana’s eyes glistened as her lips pressed into a fine line. She remained silent as her shoulders offered a slight shrug.

Porthos chose that moment to crash into the uncomfortable silence between them, passing between them with a pat to d’Artagnan’s shoulder. “We need to keep going.”

d’Artagnan waited for Porthos’ horse to pass him before he reached forward and gripped Juliana’s shoulder. “We won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

Juliana raised her head. There was a look in her eyes that he couldn’t quite decipher. She opened her mouth, looking as if she was about to speak. The moment ended as quickly as it begun as Juliana seemed to think better of it and clamped her mouth shut again. Sadness swam in the teary depths. “It’s going to be okay,” he continued. It was really the only thing he could think of saying.

“Hey!” Porthos hissed, moving quickly back over to where d’Artagnan and Juliana were standing.

“What?”

“Did you hear that?” Porthos asked. His eyes scanning the trees around them.

“Hear what?” d’Artagnan whispered back. Footsteps, the crunch of leaves. Quick feet. The bed of leaves on the ground alerted them to the fact that they were no longer alone. “Shit.”

Porthos pulled Juliana behind him, his big frame completely shielding her from anything in front of him, the tree behind her serving to protect her back. She clung to the leather of Porthos’ doublet, her breathing panicked as she pressed her face to his back.

“Quick,” d’Artagnan said, moving towards his horse.

“We should stay and fight.” Porthos stood his ground, neither him nor Juliana moving to follow his lead.

“We don’t even know how many of them are approaching.” It could possibly be suicide to stay and fight. They hadn’t exactly fared well the first time.

“We can’t outrun them. Not like this. We’ve been riding the horses harder. They’ll catch us in no time.”

d’Artagnan paused, one foot in the stirrup. “Damn it.” Porthos had a point. It didn’t help the situation though. He lowered his foot to the ground. “What do you want to do?”

Porthos moved, grabbing a handful of Juliana’s coat and shoving her in d’Artagnan’s direction. “You take Juliana the way we came. Take her far enough for her to hide.”

“Then I circle back and get them from behind,” d’Artagnan finished for him.

Juliana pulled away from them both. The fire that had been missing from before was back as she stared at Porthos incredulously. “What about you?”

“I’ll be bait.”

“And if they are the shoot first and ask questions later kind of people?” d’Artagnan asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Nah. I’ll be fine. They’re after the girl.”

“They will kill you. They will,” Juliana stated shakily.

“They won’t kill me if they think I know where you are.” He gave her another slight nudge towards d’Artagnan. “Go. Now. Listen to d’Artagnan.”

d’Artagnan nodded. He felt the same as Juliana but there were no easy decisions here. He suddenly wished for Athos’ steady calm and Aramis’ marksmanship. He trusted Porthos. That would have to do. Pulling his sword from his scabbard, he grabbed for Juliana’s hand with his free one.  Juliana glared her disapproval of the plan in Porthos direction as d’Artagnan dragged her to his left and across the small creek.

They ran from tree to tree, picking up speed until they were both breathing heavily. Once he felt like they had made as much distance possible in the opposite direction, d’Artagnan spun around on the spot, not letting go of the child. He spied a group of bushes a short distance in front of them and decided that would have to do for cover. He pulled Juliana in front of the bushes and let go. “Get in there.”

Juliana’s face tensed up but she didn’t argue. She pried apart the leaves and ducked low into the bush. d’Artagnan pulled out his spare pistol and handed it to the girl. “Do you know how to fire one of these?”

Juliana nodded, her eyes widening as she accepted the weapon that looked way too big in her small slender hands. “My … My b-brother teached me.”

“Only if you need to okay?” d’Artagnan asked and then turned to head back the way they had ran.

“Senor?” Juliana called, her voice wavering slightly.

They didn’t have time to stop and chat. Despite this d’Artagnan took a calming breath and crouched down. “I promise you no-one else is going to get hurt, okay. I promise. I will come back for you. You can be brave for me, can’t you?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Juliana nodded.

“Good Girl. Now stay as quiet as possible. And do not move from this spot until I come back.”

“I promise,” she stated in a small voice.

d’Artagnan gave her a quick grin and then turned as he stood. His heart was racing. He needed to get back to Porthos. Aramis would never forgive him if the big man was killed on his watch. He’d never forgive himself.

d’Artagnan moved quickly, his feet flying over dead leaves and twigs and dirt. He stopped dead against a tree when he heard Porthos’ voice.

“Move any closer and I’ll take your bloody head off.”

“Where’s the girl?”

Porthos laughed. “Long gone.”

d’Artagnan peeked around the tree. He could see Porthos. He was holding his pistol outstretched, pointed directly at the enemy. His arm was steady and his gaze focused. d’Artagnan slid his eyes away from his friend to their surroundings. He squinted in an attempt to see better. From what he could see there were only two assailants. The one standing before Porthos and the one that was trying to stealthily flank Porthos from the left.

d’Artagnan darted out from the cover of the tree he was hiding behind and took a wide birth as he approached the second man.

“Tell us where she is and we’ll spare you. Better yet, we’ll spare your friends. You know, the ones you abandoned on the road back there.”

Porthos laughed at the mention of their brothers. To the casual observer it would sound nonchalant but d’Artagnan knew it was anything but. Porthos was going to go on a rampage if anything more had happened to Athos and Aramis. d’Artagnan pushed his own worry for his friends to the side. He was so close now.

“Don’t move.”

d’Artagnan froze as he felt the cool edge of a pistol shoved against his neck. How the hell had he missed the third man. d’Artagnan closed his eyes in frustration.

A loud pistol blast exploded behind him. d’Artagnan jumped and swung around to see the third man slumped on the ground a primed pistol hanging from dead fingers. Behind him was a terrified looking Juliana with d’Artagnan’s now spent pistol still held in two hands in front of her.

The sound set off a chain reaction as another two pistol blasts immediately followed. d’Artagnan’s heart seized up as he saw both Porthos and the bandit drop to the ground with a cry. “Juliana, hide!” d’Artagnan shouted as he pulled his main pistol from his belt and charged at the remaining bandit.

He raised his pistol and fired just as the man dodged around a tree. d’Artagnan didn’t slow, pulling his sword from its scabbard he rushed the man as he moved from his tree cover. He raised his own pistol in d’Artagnan’s direction. Before he got off a shot, d’Artagnan was in front of him knocking his shot wide and punching the hilt of his sword into the man’s face. The man cried out and dropped to his knees, swinging a fist up and catching d’Artagnan between the legs. d’Artagnan lost all reflex and ability to breathe as he dropped his sword and dropped to his knees.

The bandit pushed him the rest of the way to the ground and straddled him, d’Artagnan’s sword now in his hands, the sharp blade hurtling towards his face. On instinct d’Artagnan caught the blade with his hands, crying out as it cut into his palms. The action was enough to knock the blade, it’s sharp end finding itself imbedded in the ground beside his head. The bandit lost his balance with the sword, stumbling to the side. d’Artagnan rolled with him, finding himself sitting on top of his enemy. He brought his fist down once, twice and a third time. His wrist was caught by strong hands as he attempted a forth.

“d’Artagnan, stop!”

Porthos’ voice snapped him out of his attack. d’Artagnan blinked, looking down at the bloody unconscious man below him and then looked up at his bloody fist caught in Porthos’ hands. He followed Porthos’ arms up to his face. The large man was bleeding heavily from a graze to the head.

“I think you got ‘im.”

d’Artagnan huffed a laugh as Porthos released his wrist. He opened his hands in front of him and was dismayed to find deep slices in both palms from where he had held off his own sword. The wounds were already stinging and bleeding quite a bit. He looked up at Porthos and held out his arm. “Help me up.”

Once he was on his feet, he stumbled against an already unsteady Porthos. They held onto one another until they were sure they were going to stay upright.

“Are you alright?” He reached up for Porthos’ head only for the man to flinch away.

Porthos batted him away. “I’m fine.”

“I thought…”

“I’m fine,” Porthos assured him.

d’Artagnan glanced around him. “Where’s…” His question died in his throat as he finally laid eyes on the child they were protecting. Juliana was standing where he had left her, pistol still in hand and her eyes wide and unmoving from the prone figure of the man she’d killed.

As Porthos went about tying up the unconscious man d’Artagnan had just pummelled, d’Artagnan moved quickly to stand in front of the body, blocking Juliana’s view of the man. Grabbing her by the shoulders, d’Artagnan moved her over to where there horses were still standing. He knelt down in front of her and took the pistol from her hands.

“I thought we had an agreement?” He asked. “I thought I told you to stay hidden?”

Juliana’s eyes focused as she looked at him. She sucked in a large breath and backed up into the horse. "Oh Dios mío. Lo maté. Lo maté. ¡Oh Dios!”

d’Artagnan dropped his pistol and grabbed her by the shoulders again, his blood staining her coat. “It’s okay. Hey, it’s okay,” he said softly, not understanding a word she was saying.

Juliana’s eyes filled with tears and this time she let them fall as she fell to her knees, sobbing in a language he couldn’t understand. d’Artagnan pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her, holding her tightly.

XXXAll4OneXXX

The sun was rising by the time d’Artagnan could see the outskirts of Paris. Hope soared and he urged his tired horse faster. By the time they reached the city the sun was out in full force, providing a beautiful start to what promised to be a stunning day.

Once reaching the bustling streets, d’Artagnan reluctantly slowed down. Beside him, their prisoner sat upon his own horse, feet tied to the stirrups and his hands bound to the saddle. His face was covered in blood and swollen from the blows he’d received. d’Artagnan’s own hands were tightly wrapped in ripped pieces of his shirt. The man had refused to say anything and they hadn’t had time to extract any information out of him.

He glanced behind him to find Juliana where she had been since the early hours of the morning. She was encased between Porthos’ arms, her legs dangling over one side of the horse with her head resting against Porthos’ shoulder. How she could sleep like that was beyond him. It spoke to just how tired she must have been.

Porthos’ face was an impassive mask of concentration and determination. But d’Artagnan wasn’t fooled. Porthos had been unsettled since leaving their friends behind. d’Artagnan slowed his pace to fall back beside the older man. “They’ll be fine,” he stated.

They hadn’t talked much on the mad rush back to Paris, every moment had been taken up with riding hard and fast with minimal breaks. But d’Artagnan knew that look in the big man’s eyes. Porthos was angry. Just who he was most angry at, d’Artagnan wasn’t all that sure of just yet.

“They’d wanna be,” Porthos grumbled, glancing down at his sleeping charge as she shifted in his arms. “’cause if they aren’t? I’ll bloody kill ‘em myself.”

“As soon as we deliver Juliana to the Captain, I’ll get two fresh horses ready.” There had been a silent agreement to get back out there as soon as possible. They could rest when they knew that their friends were safe and well. They had been neither when last they’d seen them.

The Garrison coming into view was possibly the most beautiful thing that d’Artagnan had seen in a long time. He felt Porthos pick up speed beside him and followed suite. They were greeted by the stable boy and Denis – a new Musketeer recruit - as they rode into the main courtyard.

“Where’s the Captain?” d’Artagnan asked, jumping from his horse. He stumbled a step as over-taxed muscles in his thighs and calves almost gave out. Righting himself, d’Artagnan walked around to Porthos’ side and held his hands up to help lower Juliana to her feet. The girl was looking blearily down at him as she allowed herself to fall into his arms.

“The Captain, where is he?” He asked again when the answer he desired was not quick enough.

“He’s in his office. The King is planning a hunting party for tomorrow afternoon. He’s busy with....”

Porthos swung his right leg over the front of the horse and dropped to the ground beside d’Artagnan. “Take this scum into custody,” Porthos ordered, pointing at their captive. “Saddle some fresh horses for us,” he ordered before the stable boy could leave.

Two Musketeers freed the injured bandit from his horse and dragged him away without another word.

“You just got back,” Denis stated as the stable boy hesitated.

“Do it. Now.” Porthos ordered, giving the young man a push towards the stables.

“What’s going on? Where are Aramis and Athos?” Denis asked as he looked from the two Musketeers to the small girl standing nervously between them. “Are they … are they dead?”

Porthos moved forward before any of them could blink and gripped the recruit by the shirt-front. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it.”

d’Artagnan laid a firm hand on his friend’s arm, gently pulling him off the now wide-eyed young man before them. “Porthos,” he warned.

“I didn’t mean anything by it. I promise.” Denis held his hands up, a small amount of fear still shining in his eyes.

Porthos blinked, the heavy bags under his dark eyes and blood still marking his face made him look unhinged. He ran a hand through his short curls and took a calming breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Go. See that our fresh horses are organised quickly while we see the Captain.” At d’Artagnan’s suggestion, Denis nodded and turned on his heal and escaped to the stables before anything else could be said or done.

Porthos was already walking towards the stairs, his mission clear. To return for their friends.

Juliana looked up at d’Artagnan as he placed a hand on her upper back. “You are going back for your friends, Si?”

“As soon as we’ve seen the Captain. And secured your audience with the King.”

“No!” Juliana planted her feet on the ground, refusing to move. “You must go back now. I am not important. Por favor.”

“Juliana,” d’Artagnan sighed. “This is not your fault. None of it.” They had told her such so many times now that d’Artagnan held serious doubt that she was going to believe him, especially after the incident in the woods.

“I cannot allow them to die because of me,” she fretted, her voice wavering. “It is not worth the price.”

d’Artagnan wanted to agree with her. None of this would be worth it if Athos and Aramis died. Losing their brothers would make all of this meaningless to him. But at the same time if they did not complete the mission and get Juliana’s information to the king then, Athos and Aramis’ sacrifice would have been in vain. d’Artagnan couldn’t allow that to happen either. “Juliana,” he said, pulling her towards the stairs. “The best thing you can do right now is complete your mission. That is what Athos would want you to do.” That was the truth. They were Musketeers. They were soldiers. The mission came first.

“But you do not understand.” Juliana stopped in her tracks once more and pulled on d’Artagnan’s arm. “Senor, I have something I must confess.”

Porthos knocked once on the Captain’s door before storming into the office. He was loud and no longer waiting for anyone. d’Artagnan grabbed both of Juliana’s shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “Listen, no-one will hold you accountable for you shooting that man. You did what you had to. You saved my life.”

Juliana shook her head more adamantly. “No. Something worse. Much worse.”

d’Artagnan sighed. “You can confess anything you want very soon. But first? We need to finish this. Come on.” With one hand still on her shoulder, d’Artagnan urged her to the stairs.

Porthos was already in discussion with the Captain by the time d’Artagnan and Juliana entered the room. d’Artagnan quietly directed Juliana to stand beside him in front of the captain’s desk while Porthos paced to their right.

“What happened?” Treville asked. He was standing, his hands pressed to the desk as he watched Porthos’ agitated movements.

Porthos turned back with his hand on his hips before he stalked towards the desk where d’Artagnan and Juliana stood. “We were ambushed. Athos was seriously injured.”

“How seriously?” The Captain demanded.

“Well ’e’s not ‘ere is ‘e.”

“Porthos,” Treville warned, frowning at the large musketeer’s tone.

“Serious enough, Captain. Aramis stayed with him,” d’Artagnan supplied.

Porthos huffed. “Aramis wasn’t exactly fightin’ fit ‘imself,” he added.

“They were going to try and make it to a nearby farm. Aramis will do his best to look after him but Porthos is right. He’s not in the greatest shape either.”

“We need to go back for them.”

“What about Juliana?” d’Artagnan was just as worried about their friends as Porthos was but he needed to know that their mission was complete. “Can we get some men to escort her to the palace?” This whole ordeal had been about sensitive and extremely important information that this girl had for the King. Athos would want to make sure the mission was followed through to its completion.

Treville looked at Juliana for the first time since the girl had been escorted into the room. There was a look in his eyes that seemed out of place. It was an expression he’d seen on their Captain’s face too many times. It was a cross between anger and regret and the pit of worry in d’Artagnan’s stomach grew to accommodate not only Athos and Aramis’ wellbeing but that look on Captain Treville’s face.

Juliana squirmed under the scrutiny and moved slightly closer to d’Artagnan. “I am sorry,” she whispered.

Porthos stood back and snuck a quick glance at d’Artagnan before looking back at Treville. “What is it?”

Treville sighed, his shoulders drooping as he looked down at his desk, his hands running over the different papers until he came across what he was looking for. “They’ll be no need to take anyone to the palace.”

“What do you mean?” d’Artagnan asked, not liking where this was going.

“This just arrived from the Cardinal.” Treville held out a piece of paper which Porthos snatched from his hand. “Julia De La Fuente has already been escorted to the King and is safely under Red Guard Protection at court.”

d’Artagnan frowned, snatching the piece of paper out of Porthos’ hand. “I don’t understand.”

“Decoys?” Porthos growled. “Are you kiddin’ me?”

Juliana jumped beside him as Porthos’ indignation exploded from him. The girl backed up a few spaces before she turned and ran from the room.

“Wait!” d’Artagnan called, taking a step in the direction of the door. The girl ignored him and disappeared out of sight. d’Artagnan looked back to the Captain. “This has to be some kind of joke.”

“I’m afraid not. I was informed only moments before you arrived.”

“Perfect!” d’Artagnan exclaimed throwing his hands in the air in frustration.

“Why weren’t we told?” Porthos demanded.

“The Cardinal believed that in order for his ruse to work, it was best that the information of the true mission be need to know only.”

“The cardinal believed ...” d’Artagnan scoffed, shaking his head. They shouldn’t have been surprised. This was just like the Cardinal.

“I dunno, Captain, I’d say with it bein’ our lives on the line ‘n’ all it was bloody well need to know!” Porthos shouted.

Treville straightened his stance as he focused on the rising fury coming from Porthos. “Mind your tone,” he warned. “I agree with you, Porthos. I was in the dark as much as you. I can promise you the Cardinal will be getting an earful from me on the matter.”

“Well aint this just grand.” Porthos grumbled, anger practically vibrating from the other man. He smacked d’Artagnan’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “We need to go.” He headed to the door.

“Porthos!” Treville shouted, stopping the larger musketeer in his tracks. “Take four Musketeers with you and bring our men home.”

Porthos nodded and then exited the room without another word.

For a moment the office was completely silent. d’Artagnan looked across at Treville, a slow burning rage was growing in his own chest. The Cardinal was going to get them killed. Maybe he had already gotten two of them killed. There would be no stopping Porthos if they found the unthinkable in their search for their friends. d’Artagnan wouldn’t even want to try.

 “Thank you.” d’Artagnan said giving the captain a grateful smile. He placed a hand on the hilt of his blade. He turned on his heel and exited the office.

d’Artagnan left the Captain’s office silently cursing The Cardinal. Stepping out onto the balcony attached to Treville’s office, d’Artagnan looked down to the courtyard to find that the horses he had requested were saddled and ready to go. Porthos was stocking their saddle bags as Denis rambled nervously.

d’Artagnan turned and began to head for the stairs when movement to his right caught his attention. On the floor next to the Captain’s door was Juliana. The girl’s eyes were red-rimmed as she rubbed at then with the palm of her hand. d’Artagnan paused, crouching down in front of the girl, keeping his tone light as he called her name.

The girl startled at his proximity and attempted to push herself to her feet. d’Artagnan rose with her. He reached out and took hold of her arm, stopping her from running off again. “Hey … It’s okay.”

Juliana shook her head. “No. It is not … okay.” She pulled away from his hold ineffectively. “Por favour, Senor. Let me go.”

She was right. It wasn’t okay in the slightest but there was more to her story than they had been told and he wasn’t about to judge a child on the decisions of others. “What’s your name?”

Juliana paused in her escape attempts to stare at him. “Excuse me?”

“Your name,” d’Artagnan repeated. “It obviously isn’t Juliana De La Fuente. What’s your real name?”

“My name …” the girl stuttered over her answer as if confused on why he would ask. “My name is Catalina.”

Some of the anger that had been rising died a little in the face of this child who was obviously quite overwhelmed and upset. No matter her part to play in all of this, d’Artagnan was under no illusion that she had been but a pawn in the whole affair. She had been worried about them - about Athos - and had been trying to apologise to them the whole time.

“d’Artagnan!” Porthos bellowed from below.

“I’m coming!” d’Artagnan called back without breaking eye contact with the young girl in front of him. He felt Porthos’ impatience but he couldn’t in good conscience leave the girl to fend for herself. He smiled at her before speaking again. “Okay, Catalina, I’m going to go and bring Athos home now. Can you promise me something?” d’Artagnan asked, not releasing his grip on her arm.

“Wh-what?”

“Promise me you will stay here with Captain Treville until our return.”

“Why?”

“Promise me. And this time keep your promise. Can you do that?”

There was silence between them that seemed to go on for eternity but after some obvious inner turmoil Catalina nodded shakily. “Si … Si, Senor. I will wait if that is what you want of me.”

“Good,” he said.

Standing, d’Artagnan noticed Captain Treville watching them from his doorway. He nodded to the man, releasing his hold on Catalina as he took a step back.

“Go. She’ll be fine.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

d’Artagnan wasted no more time in descending the stairs as quickly as his legs would carry him. He was greeted with a scowling Porthos waiting impatiently on top of a fresh horse, other musketeers joining them at a moments notice. d’Artagnan mounted his horse wordlessly, accepting the reins from Denis.

Porthos gave a quick knowing nod in his direction and then he was off, shooting out of the garrison with d’Artagnan close on his heels. Their first and only priority - bringing their friends home.

**TBC …**

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go peeps :) Almost there :) Last chapter is the only chapter that wasn’t already written in some form with this story. It should be up within 2 weeks (sooner if I can)


	6. Unwanted Visitors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it guys. I just wanted to say a big thanks to everyone who read this story and gave me their feedback. I love your enthusiasm. Lisa, this was all for you, mate. Hope you liked what came of that small innocent idea of throwing Athos off a cliff lol And thank you to my mother who is always a helping hand and good for laugh. Hope ya’ll enjoy the last chapter :)

Athos sighed as his forehead was bathed in a cool wetness. He was hot but the burning, suffocating heat from before seemed to have abated, leaving him feeling sticky with sweat and uncomfortable. Lethargy weighed him down, allowing him to melt into the soft bed below him.

The cool compress stroked down his face, wiping sweat from his skin. It was refreshing and nice and he was almost content to just lay there and absorb it all. But stress and urgency niggled at the back of his mind. He couldn't afford to just lay there.

A quiet mumbling could be heard nearby. The words were just quiet enough that he couldn't make them out. He forced his sluggish eyelids open, only for them to fall closed almost immediately.

"Monsieur?"

"Mmmm…" Athos responded, not quite able to convince his mouth to cooperate.

"Open your eyes."

Athos frowned. The words were commanding. It was not a request that he open his eyes but an order. The wet material was pressed against his other cheek, wiping downward, washing away the remnants of fever.

"Come on now. I know you're awake. Open your eyes."

Athos forced his eyes open once more, blinking blearily at the wooden arched ceiling above him. Cobwebs hung in a corner and as his eyes shifted to the right he found a lantern hanging from a hook in the stone walls. It wasn't lit but the room was bright with light – natural light.

"There you are. Such a lovely shade of blue. It's a shame to have them closed for as long as you have. How are you feeling?"

Athos allowed his gaze to fall to the owner of the friendly voice seated to his left. An elderly woman sat perched on the side of the bed. She pulled her hand back from his face, holding the wet cloth in her hands. She looked familiar. He glanced quickly around the room, full wakefulness slowly coming back to him as he gained more information. To his left, Aramis sat slumped in a high-back chair. His head was resting awkwardly on his shoulder, his mouth slack, and hair astray. He looked incredibly uncomfortable and impossibly young.

"Your friend is okay."

Athos licked his lips, shifting on the bed slightly. "Ahh …" He wanted to sit up. He wanted to get a grasp on what had happened. But his body ached … horribly.

"Slow down, son. You'll do yourself no good moving too fast."

"What … happened?" Athos asked. He closed his eyes and breathed through his nose. He moved his hand to rest lightly over his injured stomach. He remembered bits and pieces. He remembered falling, Aramis' hat floating in the water. He remembered watching Porthos and d'Artagnan ride off with Juliana towards Paris. He remembered the old woman …

"You were gravelly injured. Your friend brought you to my farm."

The farm. He remembered the farm. He remembered the old woman holding a musket at them." Athos eyes snapped open and he eyed the old woman cautiously. "You … you threatened to shoot my friend."

The old woman chuckled. "You can never be too careful. You never know whose going to show up on your door step." She leaned forward and picked up a glass filled with water. "Do you think you can drink some?"

Athos eyed the glass and then glanced at his friend who was still oblivious to his surroundings. Aramis would have never fallen so deeply into sleep if this woman was a threat. Unless of course he was more severely injured than he had allowed them to see. It wouldn't have surprised him. Aramis was horrible at judging his own welfare …

"Like I said before, your friend is fine. More stubborn than my most obstinate mule but I doubt that will kill him."

Athos huffed. "Sometimes I wonder."

She moved the glass closer to his mouth. "You really should drink something. You need to replenish your fluids you lost during your fever."

Athos lifted a hand to grasp the cup. He was determined to not rely on an old woman to help him drink a simple glass of water. As soon as the water hit his parched throat, Athos groaned in pleasure. In that moment he realised just how thirsty he was. The cup was pulled away from him way too quickly, earning his caretaker a glare for her effort.

"You don't want to drink too much too quickly. All in moderation, my boy."

"How long have I been out?"

"Since you arrived yesterday afternoon."

Athos frowned. "What … uhh … what time is it?"

The old woman stood, picking up a basket that had been on the floor beside the bed. "Oh I don't know, late afternoon, I believe. I have some soup on. Do you feel up to eating something?"

Late afternoon. They'd been in the one place for a whole twenty four hours at least. That same urgency he'd woken up filtered back through him. He shook his head. "We should go." He gripped the blanket and started to pull it away.

"Stop right there, young man."

Athos ignored the threat in the woman's tone and continued his attempt at rising. With gritted teeth, Athos swung his legs to the side of the bed. He was sweating immediately, his stomach flip-flopping dangerously. "Shit …" he cursed. His hands gripped his leg just above his knee in some vain attempt to stop the agonizing throbbing. Hands were on his shoulders, keeping him steady as his world spun.

"Athos?"

That was Aramis' voice. He sounded confused and alarmed. Athos wanted to tell him that he was fine but it was an obvious lie. His stomach revolted without any real warning, bile rising in his throat and spewing from his mouth in a painful heave. The stitches in his side pulled painfully as his torso seized out of his control.

There was a warm familiar hand on his back, rubbing in small circles. At some point Aramis had risen from his chair and had taken a seat beside him on the bed. He was whispering words that Athos couldn't hear over the buzzing of his ears. The tone was soothing and Athos hated it. He hated this. No control over his own damn body.

When the heaving finally simmered, Athos swallowed thickly, cringing at the foul taste left in his mouth. Another cup was shoved in front of his face, a weathered hand holding it to his mouth. He accepted the help, taking a big sip. He sloshed the water around in his mouth before spitting it back out into the bedpan that materialised in front of him. "God …"

"Feel better now?" Aramis asked.

Athos didn't bother gracing that question with a glance. He breathed in and then let it out slowly before he took hold of the offered cup and downed the rest of the water. "Thank you." His gaze caught sight of the mess he'd made on the old woman's skirt. "My … apologies."

"Nonsense. This is not the first mess I've had to deal with over the years." The lady straightened and pushed on Athos' shoulders. "Lay back."

"But …"

"Listen to her. Trust me." Aramis moved off the bed and with one hand he gently lifted Athos injured leg back onto the bed.

"Aramis," Athos sighed, closing his eyes to try and keep the nausea at bay. He didn't need a repeat performance. "The Bandits. We've been here too long." He opened his eyes to find Aramis standing beside the bed. He actually looked much better than he had the last time he had seen him. His complexion was less pale and the tell-tale signs of a headache seemed to be gone as well. That was good. One of them needed to be mobile. "If they find us here…"

Aramis glanced towards the light from the window before looking back at the woman who had picked up her basket once more. "Rosa, what time is it?"

Rosa rolled her eyes. "As I told your friend. It is late afternoon."

"It can't be …"

"You fell asleep right after I tended to your arm. I didn't have the heart to wake you. You obviously needed the rest, son."

"No," Aramis said, moving over to the window. His movements were stiff but he was steady. "Has anyone else been by?" The marksman asked as he pulled the curtain aside.

"Just a couple of travellers while you slept. They were looking for shelter. I told them we had no room and sent them on their way. That was late last night. No-one has been by since then." Rosa told them, moving towards the door. "Now I am going to clean this mess and organise that soup. You two better be prepared to at least try to eat. Can't have you wasting away." With that Rosa walked out of the room.

Aramis walked back towards the bed. "I don't believe in coincidences."

"You believe those travellers were the bandits," Athos stated.

"It's possible. I'd really not like to take a chance. We should leave as soon as we can. We've brought enough trouble to Rosa's door. She is in danger as long as we stay here."

"I agree." The need to leave this place was stifling. He felt like a sitting duck.

"How are you feeling?" Aramis asked.

"Stupid question," Athos grumbled, pressing against his tightly wrapped mid-section.

Aramis sighed as he carefully lowered himself down to sit on the chair once more. He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers momentarily getting caught in a tangled curl. He met Athos' stare, a look of contriteness on his face. There was a long pause before he finally spoke. "I'm sorry."

Athos fought the urge to roll his eyes. He had seen the apology building from the moment Rosa had left the room. "For what?" It was a genuine question because Athos couldn't for the life of him figure out how Aramis could be to blame for any of this.

"I should have been able to hold on tighter."

"You should have let me go when I told you too." Aramis chuckled causing Athos to raise a brow in question. "You think that amusing?"

"The fact that you think any one of us would have let you just fall to your death is very amusing to me."

"I didn't die."

Aramis sat forward. "Yes. How is that?"

The fall was a massive blur to him now. It had all happened so fast and each hit and bump on his way down had only served to knock the sense out of him. He remembered the weightlessness, then the air being punched from his lungs as he hit something hard again and again. Then suddenly he was waking up on that river bank putting all his concentration on a piece of headwear. "In truth," Athos sighed. "I have no idea."

"I'm glad you did and for the record? I will never let go," Aramis stated.

Athos met his friend's serious expression with the respect it deserved. He nodded. Aramis reached forward and patted Athos leg in response.

Aramis sighed again and then slumped back in the chair. "We still have a dilemma."

"We cannot stay here," Athos concluded.

"And you cannot be moved," Aramis reminded him. "If you go riding all over the countryside now you'll undo all of Madame Rosa's hard work."

"Even if Porthos and d'Artagnan have made it back to Paris and they might not have headed straight back out again. They might take a while to get here."

Aramis dragged a hand through his hair once more. "Maybe … maybe Rosa has a cart we could borrow?" Aramis stood with a wince that he schooled very quickly. "I'll go check."

As Aramis took a step there was an obvious knock at the door. He froze, glancing back at Athos with wide eyes. Athos pulled himself up onto his elbows and tracked Aramis as he moved quickly back over to the lone window in the room. He pressed himself against the wall and gazed out between the small crack in the curtains.

" _I'm sorry, Monsieur but I'll have to ask you and your men to leave once more. As I told you last night, I have no time or space for strangers."_

"Aramis?" Athos asked, hating that he could not see what was happening for himself. He felt out of sorts with the lack of control.

" _But you have time for Musketeers we see."_ The voice was gravely and self-assured.

" _I haven't the faintest idea what you are implying. Now it's time for you to leave."_

"She's … giving her usual greeting, armed with her trusty Musket. It's as we feared. I recognise one of them."

"How many?"

Aramis shifted to try and get a better look. "Four … that I can see. But there could be more."

Four men between the two of them would normally not be a problem. But when he couldn't even stand by himself, Aramis being handicapped down to one working arm and a feisty elderly woman's safety to consider, Athos really didn't like their odds.

" _We know they are here, woman. We tracked them bastards here. Their horses are in your stable. What? You didn't think we'd check when you attempted to be rid of us last night? Now if you don't let us in, we'll be forced to do something regretful."_

The hairs on the back of Athos' neck stood on end as the threat to their care-giver filtered through the walls of the farmhouse. He silently cursed at himself for allowing them to fall into this predicament, endangering an innocent woman.

"I should go out there." Aramis moved from the window, purpose shining in his eyes.

Athos shook his head and pushed himself into a fully seated position, quickly moving his legs over the side of the bed. His body would have to deal with it. He was not going to be a liability. His side stung as his stitches pulled. "Help me up."

"I can't just leave her out there by herself. Stay here. If I can convince them I am the only one left they might leave Rosa and the farm alone."

"Are you mad?" Athos asked. "That's suicide," he hissed.

"I can't let …"

A loud blast shattered their quiet argument, causing both boys to jump. Aramis rushed to the window just as another blast crashed through the air. He gasped and jumped back from the window as if he'd been slapped.

"Rosa?" Athos asked.

"Dead," Aramis answered quickly.

He turned on his heal and without another word pulled Athos to his feet. Sharp pain sucked Athos' breath away as he clung to Aramis as if he were the only thing keeping him upright. In fact, he  _was_  the only thing keeping him upright.

Aramis dragged them both towards the door of the room, his jaw clenched and his gaze determined. Outside the room, Aramis turned left and away from the front door. Athos tried to help, his leg uncooperative as they stumbled down a narrow hall, beside a single flight of stairs. Shouts could be heard from outside. Different voices indicating many men, too many for them to handle on their own.

Aramis crashed them into the wall, leaning Athos against it as he fumbled one-handed for the door beside him. Where were their weapons? It occurred to Athos in that moment that he had no idea where their weapons were.

Aramis ripped open a small door and then with one arm manoeuvred Athos into the small storage space. He grunted with effort, his breathing panicked.

"What are you doing?" Athos demanded, falling against some wooden boxes. He folded over, not sure what needed more tending to, his leg or wounded side.

Aramis slipped in beside him and pulled the door shut. Darkness enveloped them completely and for a moment all Athos could hear was their harsh breathing. Aramis' slowed his breathing until Athos could barely hear it. Athos tried to follow suit.

Doors to the house slammed open from what sounded like more than one direction. He felt Aramis tense beside him as footsteps could be heard travelling down the hall beside them.

" _Someone else was definitely here, Gerard. Look. Their weapons!"_

" _In the bedroom. Clothes. Pauldron. It was definitely them"_

" _We know you're here, Musketeers! Show yourselves and we'll make this easy on you!"_

Athos glanced at Aramis, only seeing the silhouette of his friend's face. In their mad dash for a hiding spot they had left everything behind. "Do you have anything on you?" Athos whispered.

"No," Aramis' whisper was barely above a whisper.

So they were completely weapon-less. Athos squinted, attempting to force his eyes to become more accustomed to the darkness of the closet. There seemed to be nothing but an old work jacket, a broom, some buckets and the wooden boxes he was currently leaning against.

" _I'll tell you what? I am a gentleman. I'll make you a deal. You show yourselves right now and I'll spare the old woman."_

Athos glanced at Aramis, confusion easy to decipher on his face. Aramis had said they'd killed Rosa. It had to be a trick. Athos placed a hand on Aramis left arm, feeling the tension rolling off him.

" _Tell your Musketeer friends how you'd really like them to come out now."_

There was a shuffling and then a loud cry that was distinctly feminine. Aramis' eyes grew wider with the revelation that somehow the old woman was still in the land of the living.

" _Tell them! Now, you old bitch!"_

" _No … don't listen. Don't you dare come out! You hear ... ahhh …"_  The loud slap sounded like it had come from inside their hiding spot.

Aramis flinched. Athos could feel his friend's heart pounding with their proximity, its panicked rhythm matched his own.

" _She's alive. If you don't reveal yourselves by the time I count to five, she won't be. One. Two…"_

Aramis met Athos gaze, the silent message loud and clear. He wasn't going to let Rosa die because of him. Athos nodded. They would eventually be found. How the bandits had not checked this closet yet was beyond him.

" _Three. Four."_

Aramis shoved open the door and held up his hand. "Wait!"

Men surrounded them almost immediately, dragging them into the main room. Athos tried to keep up, his swollen knee not making the job any easier. Crippling pain ripped up his leg with every step. He glanced around the room. Three men were situated in the living area and with the two that had currently forced him and Aramis into the room - that counted five. It was impossible to tell if there were more men outside. Rosa was on the floor nursing a bloody pistol blast wound to her shoulder. Blood trickled over her fingers. Her eyes were closed as she breathed carefully.

"Rosa?" Aramis asked as he was shoved none too gently forward.

"I'm …" Rosa's words were cut off by a vicious backhand to her face.

"You bastard!" Aramis growled. "She has nothing to do with this. Now let her go like you promised."

The man in front of them laughed, scratching his greasy beard. "I said I would spare her. I didn't say anything about letting the old woman go."

"I'm going to kill you," Aramis vowed, staring down the leader of this group with a deadly expression.

Gerard laughed again. "Really? Let me tell you how this is going to go, Musketeer. You're going to tell me exactly what I want to know and then I am going to put you both out of your misery. If you cooperate it will be nice and quick."

"And if we don't?" Athos asked.

Gerard laughed again. It was getting annoying.

"Take them outside," Gerard ordered.

Athos found himself being dragged out the front door and thrown down the two front steps. He landed hard on the ground. A cry of pain was forced from him and he automatically grabbed for his knee. Aramis was dumped beside him, his friend's hand automatically reaching for him. They were dragged apart and forced to kneel beside each other on the dirt. The position was nothing short of agony on his injury, forcing Athos to list to the side to keep his weight off the knee.

Gerard walked out from the house, his gait casual and flippant. He glanced over their heads to the men keeping them on the ground. "Bind their hands behind their backs."

Athos found his arms being wrenched behind him, rope binding his wrists together. Aramis struggled beside him, keening loudly as his broken arm was unbound and pulled behind him. "Hey!" Athos shouted as Aramis panted through the pain of his broken bones being mistreated. "His fucking arm!" he raged.

"I don't care. Where is the girl?"

Aramis remained quiet, tears of pain collecting in his eyes as he tried his best to breathe slowly. Athos tore his gaze away from his friend and glared at Gerard. If looks could kill, Gerard would have been dead where he stood. Unfortunately magic was not real and he could not kill the man with just a thought. Athos met the man's gaze head on and smiled. "She's gone."

"More than likely already in Paris right now," Aramis added through gritted teeth. His sentence ended with a groan and he closed his eyes and ducked his head.

Athos kept his eyes fixated on Gerard. "You failed."

Gerard snarled, kicking out at Athos and connecting with his wounded side. His stitches snapped apart as he folded forward with a gasp. A hand in his hair dragged him back up, forcing him to look Gerard in the eyes. "You failed." He repeated, his voice shakier than before, breaking out into a cold sweat.

Gerard lashed out with the butt of his pistol, connecting hard with Athos' temple. He crashed to his side, lights out before he hit the ground.

XXXALL4OneXXX

With his horse panting with dangerous exhaustion underneath him, Porthos pulled the beast to a stop, kicking up a flurry of dirt with its suddenness. d'Artagnan pulled up beside him, eyes wide as they took in the scene that greeted them.

Athos was on the ground, blood covered face in the dirt. Aramis was on his knees, the tremors in his body visible even from across the yard. There was a man standing in front of him with a pistol held point blank against his forehead.

Porthos was jumping from his horse and pulling his pistol out within seconds. He skidded to a stop, his heart failing in his chest as a shot rang out over the farm. Porthos couldn't breathe, expecting to see his best friend's brains blown all over the ground. Reality caught up with him quickly as the man in front of Aramis fell to his knees, a shocked expression on his face. An old woman stood on the front steps, a smoking musket still in her hands. The man collapsed to the ground.

Porthos pointed and fired at the man holding onto Aramis from behind, catching him in the head. Blood sprayed upward and outward, the momentum throwing the man backwards and away from his friend. "Aramis!" he shouted as he ran, pulling his sword from his scabbard.

Battle erupted all around him as Musketeers jumped into the fray quickly overpowering the minimal forces of the bandits. Aramis was on his side as Porthos dropped to his knees beside him. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut and his breathing erratic. For a second Porthos feared he had been hit by a stray ball but there was no blood. Taking a closer look, Porthos was dismayed to find Aramis' broken arm tied behind is back.

"Hold on. I've got ya." Porthos dropped his sword and reached for the bindings. Aramis tensed and whimpered but he didn't stop. The best way to help him was to set his arm free. Throwing the ropes to the ground, Porthos pulled his friend into a sitting position and gently brought his injured arm around to the front. The skin was bruised and puffy and seemed misshapen once again. Aramis pulled the arm towards his body on instinct.

"Easy, easy…" Porthos soothed.

He turned to his right, while keeping his hands on Aramis. Athos had still yet to move, eyes closed and blood dripping from the tip of his nose to the dirt on the ground. The gash on his forehead looked nasty but it wasn't as severe as a musket shot like he had feared.

"Athos?" Aramis asked, still trembling.

d'Artagnan rushed over and knelt by Athos' head. He glanced at both Aramis and Porthos before worried eyes looked back down at their leader. "Is he?" he asked. He reached out and pressed his fingers to Athos' throat. The relieved sigh was all the answer that Porthos needed. He was alive.

"Athos?" Aramis asked again, forcing his eyes open to find the answer himself when none was forthcoming.

"Hey … it's okay. He's okay." It wasn't exactly completely accurate but Athos was alive and that was really all that mattered.

Gasping as if he had suddenly remembered something, Aramis glanced around them. "Rosa? She okay?"

Porthos looked up to where the old woman had been sitting on the steps and found an empty space. Considering she hadn't just vanished into thin air, he was going to assume for now that she was still with them. "She's fine."

Aramis finally met Porthos gaze with a shaky smile. "Y-You … are a sight for sore eyes."

"And you look like shit," Porthos replied.

"Thanksssy'you too." Aramis slurred as he slumped towards Porthos, his eyes falling shut.

Porthos caught him in alarm. He quickly reached to check his friend's heartbeat. He sighed. It was there, a little fast but there. He threw a glance over his shoulder, looking for one of his fellow Musketeers. "We could use some help over 'ere!"

"Is he okay?" d'Artagnan asked.

"He will be," Porthos stated. They were together now, everything else would fall into place.

As soon as Aramis was lifted from the ground, his eyes snapped open, panicking for a second before he realised where he was and who he was with. "Can you make it into the house?" Porthos asked.

"Yeah," he stated. Once on his feet and steady enough to move more or less under his own steam, Aramis allowed Porthos to guide him up the stairs and into the house.

Inside, the old woman was seated at a chair. A fellow Musketeer, Christophe, attending to her wounded shoulder. She looked up when they stumbled in the door, concern written all over her face. "Aramis, are you okay?"

Aramis nodded. He glanced at Porthos. "The chair." He indicated to the other chair in the room. He allowed Porthos to gently sit him down. He winced. "Porthos, you need to set it again. I can feel the bones," he panted.

More bodies stumbled through the front door. Athos was being carried between d'Artagnan and another Musketeer.

"The room across there is where his bed is," the woman called, attempting to stand up. Christophe silently placed a hand on her uninjured shoulder, returning her to her seat.

Porthos watched as d'Artagnan helped to get Athos squared away and then turned, and knelt in front of Aramis. His friend was breathing slowly in and out of his nose, his face wrought with pain. "Madame, 'ave you got something I can splint 'is arm with?"

"Yes, yes … out by the firewood there should be some sturdy pieces."

Porthos patted Aramis on the leg and then stood. Outside the firewood was mostly kindling. Porthos chose the sturdiest pieces and mentally vowed to cut the woman some decent wood for her fire before they left this place. It was the least he could do.

Inside, he found Aramis in much the same condition that he had left him. He collected some bandages from Christophe's medical supplies. He knelt back down in front of Aramis and gently took hold of the marksman's arm. Aramis flinched but remained silent, the only tell-tale sign of distress was his breathing.

Christophe having finished with his ministrations, Rosa stood – against his wishes – and placed her hand on Aramis' shoulder.

Porthos took a calming breath and then steeled himself for causing more pain. "I'm goin' to count to three." He waited for Aramis to acknowledge him and then started. "One… two …" He snapped the bones back together before he hit three, cringing as Aramis growled. The worst was over.

XXXALL4ONEXXX

Athos smiled at Rosa puttering around the room as Porthos and d'Artagnan did her bidding. It was odd to see the two men jump to attention for a woman so small. He respected her. She commanded respect from everyone without only having to speak a few words. Not everyone could say that.

Athos rested his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes. It was nice to be sitting up in a chair instead of laid back in a bed all day. He'd done as he was told of course - not even Athos wanted to expose himself to Rosa's wrath – but a man could only take so much inactivity.

It had been four days since the attack on Rosa's farm. Since then Porthos and d'Artagnan had been put to work while he and Aramis were ordered to recover. They had fixed a hole in the roof, repaired fencing and many other little odd jobs that were just too much for a little old woman to handle. In Athos' eyes it wasn't enough to repay her for almost losing her life. It wasn't enough to repay her for what she was continuing to do for them.

"Are you okay, my dear?" Rosa asked, stirring a pot that was hanging over the fireplace.

"I am perfectly fine," Athos responded, a smile gracing his face.

"I wouldn't listen to him," d'Artagnan commented as he walked back into the room. Athos glared at his young friend whose smile only seemed to grow.

Rosa raised her eyebrows at his assessment. She clearly didn't need d'Artagnan's opinion on his health to question his declaration. Her attention caused Athos to feel no older than a young boy who had been reprimanded by his father. He managed a sheepish smile. "I  _am_  feeling better."

"You needn't leave so soon. I don't know why you're in such a rush. It's been nice having four strong men around the house. It gets quite lonely out here all by myself."

The front door opened, Aramis walking through it with his usual swagger. His arm had been set and a sling had been made for him. He would be off duty for a few weeks while his arm healed but for the most part Aramis had bounced back with some rest and care. "That's about to change," the sharpshooter stated with an excited grin on his face. "She's here."

Athos pulled himself to his feet, earning a disapproving glare from his current mother-hen. Glancing towards the front window he could see a carriage pulling up in the yard. Its occupants filed out and stood before the house, taking in the setting. Captain Treville encouraged the new arrival forward.

As he entered the dwelling, Captain Treville removed his hat from his head and bowed his head slightly in respect to Rosa who smiled, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Afternoon, Captain," Aramis greeted, taking the man's hand in an awkward left hand shake.

"Where is the little dear?" Rosa asked, approaching the two men. She almost looked nervous.

Captain Treville stood aside to reveal Catalina. The young girl looked even more nervous than Rosa did. She was dressed in a fine dress, gloves and a hat more appropriate for her size than the massive floppy one they had first seen her wearing.

While in recovery, they had received word from Treville. With the mission finished, he had tried to make contact with the young girl's father only to find out that the man had moved from the town and was nowhere to be found. Catalina had nowhere to go. Rosa had overheard him discussing the girls fate with Aramis and wouldn't take no for an answer. She would take the young girl in.

Treville placed a hand on Catalina's back, again urging her forward. He plucked the hat from her head and held it in his hands as Rosa approached cautiously. "This must be young Catalina. What a pretty little thing you are."

"Hello, Senora," Catalina greeted in a small voice.

"No, no, no, you can call me Rosa. This is going to be your home now, after all. If you wish it to be?" Rosa asked.

"I have nowhere else to go," Catalina stated sadly.

"Well, my girl, you are welcome here. I hope we can be friends," Rosa offered with a hopeful expression.

"Si … I would like that. Very much."

"Good. It's settled then."

Catalina glanced around the room, her eyes landing on Athos. A smile spread across her face as if all insecurities had suddenly been forgotten. "Senor Athos! You are okay!"

She raced to him, wrapping her small arms around him in a hug that he had not been prepared for at all. His still tender side ached and he couldn't stop the grunt of discomfort that escaped him. He looked up startled at Aramis and Treville who were not even trying to hide their grins. He tentatively placed his arm around her shoulder and returned the hug. To be perfectly honest he wasn't used to such exuberant greetings, especially from someone so small.

The excitement started to take its toll and he could feel himself flagging. He needed to sit down. Rosa was suddenly at his side, placing a hand on Catalina's shoulder. "Careful, my girl."

Catalina moved back and stared up at Athos with wide eyes. "I am sorry. I have hurt you?"

Athos shook his head and eased himself down into his chair. "I'm okay." Aramis cleared his throat. "It's good to see you," Athos added.

Catalina smiled shyly. "I am glad you are okay. I was so very worried."

Rosa placed her hand on the girl's shoulder. "How about we let Athos get some rest. Could you maybe help me with the soup? I bet your hungry after your long ride."

Athos stood again as Rosa redirected Catalina's attention. He reached for his crutch and then hobbled past the Captain and Aramis.

"And where do you think you are going?" Aramis asked, frowning.

"I need some fresh air." It was the truth. He had been cooped up for days.

He ignored his friend's disapproving stare and hobbled very slowly down the steps. He made it to the bench that Porthos had made for Rosa and breathed a sigh of relief as he sat down. He immediately knew he wasn't alone and glanced over his shoulder to see Catalina on the porch, staring at him. It was disconcerting to say the least.

"What is it?" he asked.

Catalina moved as if that had been an invitation. She sat beside him on the bench and was silent for a good long moment.

"Are you not happy?" he asked. "Rosa is a good woman."

"She seems … nice. Truly."

"Then what is it?"

Catalina hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip. She looked up at him, uncertainly in her eyes. "I … uhh … I wanted to make my apologies before you leave."

Athos shook his head, looking out to the fence. He could see Porthos in the distance working to fix the fence like he'd promised. "You didn't do anything wrong," he told her. There was no way the child had any fault in the events that transpired.

"I deceived you," Catalina stated simply.

Athos sighed. "At the behest of adults who did not have your best interests at heart. They are to blame. Not you."

"It matters not." Catalina's voice was rising with distress. Her hands made fists in her skirt. "I feel … bad. Guilt. You nearly died."

"But I didn't," Athos reminded her. He shifted slightly to look at her more directly. "Would it make you feel better if I said I forgave you?"

"I can make it up to you."

"You can make it up to be by believing when I say that I forgive you and that none of this was your fault. Can you do that for me?"

Catalina seemed to consider what he had told her. He watched her as she processed his words and then met his gaze. She nodded. "I can do that."

"Good." Athos relaxed more on the bench and turned back to watch Porthos just as the large man dropped his hammer with a cry and pulled his hand to his body. He cursed, kicking the fence in retaliation. Athos grinned. His grin grew into a smile as he heard Catalina giggle beside him.

They remained silent for a few moments, both just looking out into the field as Porthos continued his work on the fence.

"Senor Athos?" Catalina asked, breaking the silence.

"Yes?"

"May I make a confession to you?"

"What is it?" Athos asked, wondering what else this girl could be harbouring in her heart.

"I … I feel shame because … well, I liked being Juliana."

Athos frowned. Of all the things the girl had been about to say, he hadn't expected that confession. "Why?" he asked, confused as to where this conversation was heading. "Why would you want to be someone you're not?"

Catalina hesitated again for half a second before continuing. "For a few days I was really important to someone. My father. He does not care. I was only worth what someone would pay him for me. But for once I mattered. I am sorry."

"Catalina, I am going to tell you something and I want you to listen, okay. I don't remember a lot of what happened. But d'Artagan told me of your conduct under pressure. He told me that you saved his life. I owe you a debt for that. You are incredibly brave and you are definitely worth more than a pay check."

Athos watched as Catalina's chin quivered and her eyes filled with moisture. She sucked in a large breath and let it out slowly. It was amazing to see such strength of character in someone so young. "You'll be happy here. You'll be valued. You deserve that."

Catalina smiled up at him, sadness still around the edges. But Athos could see a shift in her, almost like relief had settled. After all, everyone needed to feel needed and loved didn't they? He himself was guilty of that. If it were not for his brothers Athos knew his world would have stayed very dark. Catalina was going to be okay. She was in a much better place now. "Rosa needs your help too," he added.

"She does?" Catalina asked, interest clear in her voice.

"I want you to promise me that you're going to do your best to look after her. She saved our lives and I want to make sure that I am leaving her in the right hands. Can you promise me that?"

"Si, Si … I am the right person. I promise you."

"Good."

Catalina jumped up from her seat on the bench and before Athos knew what was happening he found himself once again on the receiving end of an unexpected hug. "Thank you," Catalina whispered in his ear as she squeezed. Athos slowly brought hands up to rest on her back.

Catalina pulled back after a moment and smiled at him. "I'll go and help her right now."

Athos watched Catalina as she raced up the steps and back into the house. This was the best outcome. Somehow they had managed to turn the Cardinal's dangerous game of smoke and mirrors into a happy ending of sorts. He found himself smiling in the girls wake.

"Well wasn't that just adorable."

Porthos' deep chuckle had Athos rolling his eyes. He turned and watched as his friend approached, his jacket clutched in one hand and the wooden tool box held in the other. "Not a word," Athos warned. With one hand gripping his crutch tightly, Athos held his free hand out towards Porthos. "Help me up."

Porthos reached for him, using his upper body strength to pull Athos into a standing position. He kept a hold of his arm until Athos was sure he was stable and not about to drop to the ground in an undignified heap. "How's the thumb?" Athos asked.

Porthos groaned. "These hands were made for fight'in, not build'in."

Athos grinned. He allowed Porthos to help him towards the front door, keeping pressure of his injured leg. "We'll be home soon enough."

Porthos paused at the steps, using extra care as Athos maneuverer up the first step and then the second. His faced folded as he looked at Athos sceptically. "Are you sure you're ready to go home?"

There was no doubt in his mind that he was ready to return to Paris. He was well and truly ready to put all of this behind him. He wanted his own bed, his own dusty quarters and he was really looking forward to that bottle of wine he'd put aside.

Porthos stood to the side of the door hovering as Athos allowed his crutch to take his weight. Athos smiled at the big man. "My friend, I am more than ready."

"Home it is then," Porthos agreed, apparently satisfied with that answer. "I tell you one thing though. I sure am goin' to miss Rosa's cooking."

A strong smell wafted from inside the house, swirling under Athos' nose. He could almost taste the soup cooking from where he stood at the door. The old woman knew how to cook. Athos closed his eyes and let his senses take in the aroma, glad that for the first time in a couple of days he didn't feel too queasy to eat.

Athos opened his eyes and glanced at Porthos, raising an eyebrow. "I'll tell Serge that." He quickly turned back towards the door and hobbled forward, stepping through the entry way. "I'm sure he'll appreciate that."

"Athos … wait…"

Athos continued moving slowly as Porthos stuttered behind him about Serge and his wrath. Athos smiled.

He was more than ready to go home.

**The End.**


End file.
